


The Bitter and The Sweet

by Byrcca



Series: Episode Rewrite (because my way is better!) [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Episode: s03e21 Before and After, Episode: s03e22 Real Life, F/M, NOT Paris/Kes, Pre-P/T, Self-isolation fic dump, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:09:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byrcca/pseuds/Byrcca
Summary: An accident leaves Tom injured (again), but this time the cure is worse than the disease.
Relationships: Tom Paris/B’Elanna Torres
Series: Episode Rewrite (because my way is better!) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652164
Comments: 55
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you goes out to CaptAcorn for her unrelenting and unsympathetic beta of this story. I’ve not only taken much of her advice, I stole a couple of lines she suggested. Of course, I also ignored more than one of her suggestions. And, mea culpa, I didn’t send it back to her when I was done with the edit because I’m sick of it.
> 
> Originally written in September 2018, then shelved. I really dislike Before & After. The storyline makes me feel vomity. B’Elanna dying makes me feel vomity. And I like Kes, I do, but Tom marrying Kes makes me feel vomity. The two together in one episode? Blerg… But I’ve fixed it. 
> 
> I have tried. Anyone who knows me knows that I have tried to sync the stardates. Oh, how I have tried. But even though Before & After gives the start of what they refer to as the Year of Hell, the stardate that Tom mentions in the episode is not the same as the one given for the episode Year of Hell. In fact, it would place it between Worst Case Scenario and Scorpion which, for my purposes, is useless. Which, I can only surmise because I can’t remember, is why I have a stardate that lines up with nothing except the inside of my butt (as in, pulled it out of). 
> 
> Just go with it.

Consciousness rushed toward him, and Tom woke with a gasp. His muscles contracted and his body jerked. His eyes flew open and he looked right, left, up. His body felt heavy and sluggish, but his brain registered panic. 

He remembered sitting in the pilot seat of the shuttle, hitting something: turbulence. The shuttle rocking. His panel exploding. Being thrown from his seat. 

Pain. 

Vapor rushing past the forward viewport. A woman screaming. 

No. That was wrong; that was from before. 

“What’s…? What’s happening?” His words were slurred, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. His body felt weighted: his legs refused to respond, and his arms felt pinned to his sides. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. He sucked a breath. 

The Doctor was suddenly above him, smiling down. “Just relax, Tom, this won’t hurt a bit. We’ve brought the bio-temporal chamber online. In just a few minutes, everything will be fine.”

“Doc…what…?” Tom frowned, confusion creasing his forehead, focusing his thoughts and forcing him to be still. 

“Is he going to be alright?” 

A woman’s voice, one he didn’t recognize. Was she the one who’d been screaming? No. No, that was from a long time ago, from before… something. The memory hovered behind his eyes, just out of reach.

“Not if you don't all clear out of here and let me do my work.” The Doctor sounded more disgruntled than usual. He was normally unflappable, but right now he sounded on edge. 

“He’s my father. I'm staying.” 

The woman again. Who else was here? Someone else must be injured, but he couldn’t see. He turned his head and saw a blur of silver metal almost close enough to brush his nose. 

“This is a very delicate procedure, and I could use some peace and quiet.”

“Doc?” Tom’s arms were working now, and he lifted one but hit cold metal before he’d raised his hand twenty centimetres. The _clang_ reverberated in his ears and around the tube—he was inside a tube. 

Tom heard Kes speak. “Doctor Van Gogh is right. Let him do his work.” Her soft voice, usually modulated to be calming, was more commanding now, pitched higher with stress. 

Tom wiggled a hand up toward his chest and reached outward. He encountered cold metal: a lid. He pushed, but it didn’t move. “Doc!” Tom called, with an edge of panic to his tone as claustrophobia clawed at him. 

“You’re going to be fine, Tom. Just try to relax.” The Doctor smiled at him, then glanced beyond Tom’s head. “Kes, maybe you should step out, too.”

“I don’t want to leave him.” 

He sensed more than saw Kes step up beside him. He felt her cool fingers on his forehead, and he turned his head to look at her and froze. She was old, her hair gray, her face puffy and wrinkled. But her eyes were still kind, still the same clear blue that he remembered. He blinked, not believing what he saw. “Kes,” he asked, “what happened to you?” 

“Tom? What do you mean? I...” Her eyebrows drew together in concern.

Tom realized he’d upset her. He shook his head in confusion. Had he been in a coma? What the hell was happening?

“Please, Kes, go wait with Linnis,” the Doctor said. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with him.” 

Tom heard Harry’s voice from somewhere off to his right and relief washed through him. He grasped at the idea of his friend like a lifeline. “Harry? What’s going on?” His volume rose, and he heard his own panic in the strangled sound of his voice. “What happened?”

“It’s okay, buddy. You got a little bumped around but you’re going to be fine.”

Tom craned his neck trying to see him, but Harry was standing somewhere beyond the scope of his vision. He tried to roll over, tried to sit up, but he could barely move. He couldn’t get out. Claustrophobia, his old nemesis, came roaring back to smother him. “What is this?” he demanded, thumping a fist against the side of the tube. It rang with a hollow _thud_. “Get me out of this thing!”

“It’s alright, Tom.” Harry was at his side, finally. “It’s the bio-temporal chamber. It’s coming online now. It’s going to help stabilize—”

”The what?” Tom shuddered as ice crawled up the back of his neck. His leg jerked and his knee hit metal. He shivered with cold. He kicked out the tube, punched its sides with his fists. He writhed, trying to turn, trying to get up. To get out. 

“Tom, relax!”

He flailed, fingernails scraping over bare metal. His lungs felt heavy, constricted. He gasped for breath. “C-cold. I’m freezing, Doc. It’s a coffin! Get me out—”


	2. Chapter 2

Pain, there but manageable, like a hot hand squeezing him. Tom moaned, blinked, look around: the Doctor, sickbay. Again. “Tha’ was one hell’va dream I jus’ had,” he slurred. His throat was dry, and his tongue felt heavy and thick. “Wha’d I do this time?”

“According to the sensor log, your shuttle was hit by a pocket of rogue chronitons. Your console exploded; that’s how you were injured.” The Doctor waved the wand of a medical tricorder around Tom’s head, then lowered it to scan his chest and vital organs. “You sustained some deep tissue damage. I’ve repaired the burns but you may feel some discomfort for a few days.”

“Yeah, Doc, I’m feeling some now.” Tom winced.

“Here.” The hiss of hypo brought instant relief. “Is that better?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Tom sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing back onto the biobed. “I don’t remember.”

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

“Three days?” He stared at the Doctor, noting the serious expression on his face. It didn’t seem possible. He had no sense of lost time. No sense of time at all. 

“I’m concerned by some of your neural readings, so I’m keeping you here for the time being. And I need you awake for some tests, so no more sleeping. I’ve let your family know you’re awake. 

“Hmmm?” Family? The Admiral knew? How? Did they make contact with the Alpha Quadrant? He was suddenly tired, and the bio bed was warm and comfortable, almost as good as his own bed. His eyelids felt heavy.

“Tom, I’m afraid that I have some bad news.” The Doctor’s tone had softened, and Tom tensed, waiting to be told he’d lost a limb, a vital organ. His fingers spasmed, his hand jerking open. “Seven didn’t make it,” the Doctor said. 

“Who?” Tom mumbled, confused. It was too much of an effort to pay attention, to figure it out. He heard the soft swish of the sickbay doors opening. It was a comforting sound, he realized, like the _beeps_ and _bloops_ of the computer systems on the bridge. 

“Grandpa?” Tom opened his eyes, and tried to focus. A young boy stood beside his biobed, his expression solem. Tom frowned at him, and the boy broke into a grin. “You’re awake!”

“Who…?” Tom glanced beyond the boy into the relieved face of a pretty, young blonde woman. She smiled, and reached out and touched his shoulder. Tom turned his head and stared at her hand. 

“I studied the flight manual and I passed the written test. I got everything right! Lieutenant Baytart said he would run the simulation with me, but I want to do it with you!” The boy was grinning, brimming with energy. 

“What?” Tom frowned in confusion. Unless he’d just received a promotion that Tom wasn’t aware of, Pablo Baytart was an ensign. He felt the urge to shift away from the two strangers. He heard the sickbay doors open again and saw Harry walk into the room. Their eyes met, and Harry’s face broke into a grin. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Harry joked.

“Can we go soon? Please?” the boy insisted. “I wanna try your new programme!” He bounced up and down on his toes a few times.

The young woman cupped his head, stroked his dark hair as she spoke to him. “Why don’t you give grandpa a chance to get his bearings first?” She turned her attention back to Tom, “He’s been talking about nothing but flying with you for the last two days, since he passed the written exam.” She turned her head and spoke to the boy. “But that’s going to have to wait until grandpa’s back on his feet, alright?” The boy nodded. She smiled at Tom again, and he saw tears shine in her eyes. “We were so worried.”

She reached for him, and Tom drew away from her. “I don’t know you.” He glanced at the boy. “Either of you.”

The boy looked at him, confusion and hurt warring in his expression. “I’m Andrew, your grandson.”

Shock stilled Tom for a moment, then he found his voice. “What? I don’t have a grandson.” 

“Dad?” 

The woman put her hand on his hair and Tom jerked away, trepidation curling in his gut. This wasn’t right. He looked at Harry, standing at the foot of the biobed. “Harry? What the hell is going on?”

Harry hurried over. “Hey, buddy, calm down.” He put an arm around the woman’s shoulders. 

She was visibly upset. Linnis. Tom remembered now that the Doctor had called her Linnis, but that had been a dream, right? “Is this some sort of a joke?” he asked. Irritation blended with exhaustion, and Tom found he’d had enough. “Computer, end programme.” He tried to push up with his elbows, and pain lanced through his chest. He gasped. 

The Doctor placed his hands on Tom’s shoulders and pushed him gently back down onto his back. “Just relax, Tom.” 

The woman turned toward the Doctor. “What’s happening? Why doesn’t he remember us?” 

“What do you remember?” the Doctor asked Tom.

Not much, he thought. Images came to him, hazy and with a dream-like quality. “I was here, in sickbay.”

“Good.”

“And she was here, and the boy, but I don’t know them!” he insisted. He felt a rush of trepidation, of anxiety, as he remembered a feeling of being constrained. Had they shackled him to the bio bed? Had he been under a force field? 

The woman had started to cry in earnest now, her chin quivering as tears rolled down her cheeks. Tom looked from her to the boy, who stood quietly at her side, his mouth open and his dark eyes huge. He looked like Harry. What the hell?

The woman raised a hand to her mouth, then turned and burrowed into Harry’s shoulder as he brought his arms around her. Harry’s mouth was tight, concern drawing his features.

“As I said,” the Doctor pushed in front of the little family, “I’m concerned about your neural readings. You appear to have lost over ninety-five percent of your memory engrams.”

Tom froze as panic licked its way up his spine. “How is that possible?”

“We think it has something to do with that cloud of chronitons you ran into in the _Delta Flyer_.”

“The what?” What the hell was a _Delta Flyer_?

“Andrew,” the Doctor turned and addressed the boy, “go get your grandmother. She’s in the hololab.” 

The boy turned and ran, and Tom followed his flight toward the sickbay doors. They opened before he reached them and Chakotay strode into the room. The boy ran right into him. 

“Hey, slow down there, tiger! Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I’m sorry, Captain. I need to find Grandma!”

 _Captain_? Tom shook his head and pain lanced through his neck. This was wrong. Everything felt wrong. Tom sucked in a lungful of air and held it, willing his pulse to slow. Panicking wouldn’t help. Was he stuck on the holodeck, or trapped in some sort of waking dream? Nightmare? Was he hallucinating like that time _Voyager_ had crossed into Bothan space? Chakotay appeared at his bedside. “What the hell?” Tom asked. “Where’s Captain Janeway? Someone tell me what’s going on!” Tom insisted. 

Chakotay’s expression was neutral. “Tom, Kathryn Janeway died five years ago, don’t you remember?” 

“No.” Fear again, sudden and suffocating, numbing his lips and the tips of his fingers. “No…that can’t be right.” 

Chakotay gave Tom an assessing glance, then turned toward the Doctor. “Tell me what’s wrong with him. Why did you send Andrew from the room?”

“I’m afraid the irregularities in Tom’s brain are more serious than I first thought, Captain. I’m showing unusual readings in his temporal lobe.”

“Is that why he doesn’t remember that Kathryn and…” Chakotay trailed off and glanced back at Tom. 

“The events of that day were traumatizing for everyone on board; it’s possible that he’s repressing those memories.” 

Tom searched past Chakotay’s shoulder and caught Harry’s concerned gaze. He just shook his head. He was holding the crying woman, and rubbing her back in an attempt to sooth her. None of this made any sense, and Tom’s initial fear and confusion was starting to turn to anger. He squeezed his eyes shut, blocking them out. 

“I’m concerned about his confusion,” the Doctor continued, addressing Chakotay, “and the results of my preliminary tests are, quite frankly, bizarre. I’ve never seen anything like them.” 

“Explain.” Chakotay said.

“It’s as if connections pop into existence, then disappear. He has memories, then they’re gone, or like new _old_ memories suddenly appear.”

Chakotay frowned, obviously confused. “Could there be a bug in your equipment?”

“All of them? Sickbay is not a Borg cube, Commander, my medical tricorders aren’t linked.” 

“In the computer then: the medical diagnostics system.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t sound convinced. 

“Tom,” Chakotay leaned closer to him, “tell me what you do remember.”

He didn’t like the way they were discussing him, like he wasn’t even there, didn’t like the idea that there was something wrong with his brain. He wanted to leave, now! Wanted to get up and run! Wanted nothing more than to wake in his own bed.

“Tom!”

He jerked his attention back to Chakotay, took a breath. “I was here and there were people.” He glanced around, then shivered, suddenly chilled. 

“What else?”

“She called me dad, that woman.” Tom shook his head. His tongue felt thick. “But I don’t ha’ a daughter, especially not a grown up one!”

“Relax, Tom.” 

Chakotay laid a hand on his shoulder, and he felt the heat of his palm through his shirt. “I was lying in a…a coffin. …felt like a coffin.” His shivered. He was suddenly freezing.

“A coffin?!”

“Maybe it w-was a dream.” He stared at the Doctor. “You called it a b-bio-temporal c-chamber. I wanted out. Why’s it so cold in here, Doc.”

“Mister Kim, hand me that thermal blanket.” The Doctor gestured to the other bio bed, and Harry stripped the blanket off of it and spread it over Tom’s bed. The Doctor smoothed it over his chest. “Several weeks ago, you, Kes, and I discussed whether a bio-temporal chamber might prolong her life. Now that I think about it, a similar device might stabilize the odd neural readings I’ve been seeing in your scans, but we haven’t even designed one yet, let alone built it,” the Doctor answered.

Tom spasmed with a sudden chill. “B’lanna ca’ do it,” he slurred. “She’s brillia’t ‘mazing… Ca’ do a-an’thing.” Tom’s teeth clacked together as his jaw tightened. He started to shiver violently. 

“What’s wrong with him?” The blonde woman—Linnis—asked. Her voice was high, on the edge of panic. 

The doctor had his tricorder in his hand and was busy running it over Tom’s head and torso once again. Tom’s teeth were chattering. “I’m c-cold. I’m fre-freezing, Doc.”

“Your temperature has dropped three degrees.” The Doctor punched the controls on the biobed and Tom felt warmth infuse his back and shoulders, and the back of his legs. He shivered again. “Is that better?”

“What does that mean?” Chakotay, at least, sounded calm. 

“You’re going to be okay, Tom,” Harry said by rote as he tucked the blanket around him, but Tom could tell by the edge in his tone that he didn’t believe it. 

“I'm not sure, Captain,” the Doctor said. “His cells are in a state of bio-temporal flux. I don't understand how that could be happening.”

“I’m s-so cold. Doc!” Tom started to shiver violently. His teeth chattered, and the skin on his arms prickled as a shiver clawed up his spine. His back teeth bit down on his tongue, and he tasted blood. 

“What can we do?” Harry again.

“Well, if we did have a bio-temporal chamber to put him in, it might stop it, whatever _it_ is.”

“Doc! Where’s B’Elanna?” Tom shouted. He thought he shouted. There was a persistent buzzing sound in his ears. “I nee’a tell her ’mm s-sorry I broke her shutt’l…”

“Tom? Tom, can you hear me?” 

The Doctor’s voice sounded muffled, Tom thought, like when his mother tried to speak to him through his bedroom door when he was a teenager. He’d been so angry with his father, so angry with everyone and their plans for him, their expectations. That wasn’t what he’d wanted. 

This wasn’t what he wanted!

He opened his eyes, thought he’d opened his eyes, but his vision tunnelled down to a pinprick of light. He heard a woman screaming, felt air rushing past him; he was falling and so cold—

^*^*^*^

Just beyond Harry’s shoulder, sunlight glinted off the back of a metal chair, and Tom squinted against the glare. He looked past Harry’s head to a cream stone building with large picture windows, turned his head to survey the people seated at the other tables near them. 

“I was thinking that maybe we could swing past that nebula, get a closer look. I’ll ask the captain in the briefing this afternoon,” Harry said. “I’m hoping it’ll have enough hydrogen to fill our deuterium tanks.”

They were seated at a small, round metal table on a flagstone patio. There was a light breeze and the buzz of chatter around them. Aside from Dorado and Yosa at a table to their left, the other people at the cafe were strangers, including two in uniform: a woman with long blonde hair, and a dark-skinned man. 

They were obviously on the holodeck, but since when were they creating ’fleeters in their programmes? He’d been in sickbay, and now he was here. Was he trapped in a broken programme? Was this really his friend seated at the table with him, chattering about the matter-antimatter matrix, or was it a hologram of Harry? 

“Seven says she can probably figure out a way to enhance the _’Flyer’s_ shields so you’re not crushed like a bug,” Harry laughed.

“Computer, delete Harry Kim,” Tom said. 

“Ha. Ha,” Harry replied. “You’re in a mood today.”

“Harry?” Tom peered at him more closely, then turned bodily in his chair, twisted his head and saw streets, buildings, a blue sky dotted with clouds and birds. Trees lined the sidewalk, and people scurried back and forth, intent on their own business. A cloud passed over the sun, and the daylight visibly dimmed. Tom shivered as the air felt immediately cooler. 

“Who programmed this?” he murmured.

“We did. A year ago.” Harry stared at him, a quizzical look on his face. “Tom? You okay?” 

“Harry! Tom! So good to see you both.” Tom had started to rise when a jovial, middle-aged man wearing an apron stopped at their table. “And how are the delightful ladies in your lives on this beautiful day? Please, give them my regards.”

“Just fine, thanks,” Harry replied with an answering smile. “I’ll tell them you asked after them.” 

“Coffee for you both,” The waiter set two mugs of what smelled like raktajino in front of them, “and my famous _frittelli_.” A plate of small doughnuts coated in coarse sugar slid onto the table. “Anything else you boys need, you ask.” The waiter smiled again, then moved on to the table with the ‘fleeter couple, stopping to chat with the woman in a gold uniform. She had the rank pips of an ensign on her collar. She laughed, and Tom twisted in his chair to stare at her.

“Who is that?” Tom asked.

“Cosimo? Or have you forgotten Marla?” Harry pointed at the plate of pastries and raised an eyebrow at Tom. “I thought Kes had you on a diet.” His smile broadened. 

“What?” Tom frowned in confusion. Kes was the ship’s nurse, sure, but the doc had never ordered him to lose weight. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Harry said, reaching for a doughnut.

Tom shook his head. “Something's not right here.”

Harry plucked another sweet from the plate and popped it into his mouth whole. He chewed a bit before he said, “Oh yeah?” around a mouthful of dough. “Looks okay to me.” He shrugged.

It might look okay, but it wasn’t. Trepidation twisted Tom’s gut. Something was very wrong, but he didn’t know what was happening. 

“So,” Harry continued when Tom was no more forthcoming, “Andrew is so excited about getting his shuttle certification he can barely wait for his flight test.”

“Andrew? The boy.” Tom frowned. Was he the key to this? Maybe he was an alien, and he’d taken over their minds. Maybe everyone on the ship was hallucinating, like when they’d run into that telepathic alien in Bothan space. Despite the warmth of the holographic sun, goosebumps rose on his arms, and he shivered like someone had walked across his grave. He stood and his leg bumped the table, and coffee splashed from his mug onto its glass surface.

“Yeahhh.” Harry peered at him again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ve got to get out of here.”

Harry reached for him. “Tom, what’s wrong with you?”

The unknown woman in the ‘fleet uniform had stood, too, along with her companion. “Commander? Are you al—”

“I’m cold!” Tom shuddered and turned to stare at Harry. He watched as he pressed his combadge, and heard him call for medical assistance. Tom convulsed, suddenly freezing. It was happening again, he realized. He was cold, so it would happen aga—


	3. Chapter 3

Tom started awake, his body tense, sheets twisted in his hands. He was in bed. He puffed a breath and let his head fall back onto the pillow. It was a dream. A dream within a dream within a dream. Crazy stuff. He’d have to go easier on the pleeka rind casserole from now on. He raised a hand and scrubbed his face, then kicked his legs free of the blankets. 

“Computer, what’s the time?”

::the time is six hundred hours forty-seven minutes::

Good. He had plenty of time before shift. If he had the rations, he’d avoid the threat of Neelix’ latest creation and treat B’Elanna to breakfast but, unfortunately, he’d used them all yesterday. He might just ask B’Elanna to join him anyway, he decided. He wondered if she was up. Odds were she was. Even odds said she was already on duty and elbow deep in the innards of some junction relay. Well, if that were the case, he’d make himself look presentable and hunt her down; he’d done it before. 

He’d fallen asleep reading that romance novel she’d tried so valiantly to hide from him yesterday. He’d read a few chapters last night, and he was almost at the part where Rorg and M’Nea meet for the first time. Though he was joking when he’d said it in the mess, he was actually hoping he could pick up a few tips on how to romance her. He figured it couldn’t hurt. Though, he had to consider the fact that he could screw up something and she’d make good on that threat about a dagger. He grinned. If she did agree to meet him for breakfast, maybe she’d be willing to discuss the novel? They could form their own book club, just the two of them. 

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed and reached toward the bedside table for the padd. It was gone, and in its place was a framed photo of Kes holding a baby. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Kes had long hair in the picture. When had Kes decided to grow her hair? The better question was, who had put the photo there and why? Had B’Elanna snuck into his quarters to retrieve her padd? A picture of Kes was a pretty strange swap to make. He picked up the photo and stared at it, frowning. The baby had fluffy blonde hair and big blue eyes but its forehead was smooth, so it wasn’t Naomi Wildman. It was strange, but he didn’t have the time or inclination this morning to figure out what was obviously a prank that, now that he thought about it, was most likely perpetuated by Harry.

He stood and headed toward the bathroom. Shower. Dress. B’Elanna. Breakfast. It sounded like a plan. And if things went well at breakfast, he might just try his luck and invite her to join in his Lake Como programme tonight. Second time could prove to be the charm, and he was feeling lucky today. 

Fifteen minutes later, showered, combed, and looking as spit and polished as Janeway could ever ask, he clipped his combadge onto his jacket and gave it a tap. “Computer, locate Lieutenant Torres.”

::Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres is not on board::

He paused, midstride, on his way to the door. “What?”

::please restate inquiry::

“What do you mean she’s not on board? Is she on an away mission?”

::negative::

“Well, where is she?” he demanded. 

::Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres ceased to be a member of the crew of the _USS Voyager_ on stardate 51252.3::

“What?”

::please restate inquiry::

“This is ridiculous.” It must be malfunctioning. Tom slapped his combadge. “Paris to Torres.” There was no response so he tried again. “Paris to Torres. B’Elanna? You there?”

Silence. 

Tom’s scalp prickled and, for the first time, he felt a thread of real fear. Something was going on. Something wasn’t right. That weird dream he’d had last night… 

He stood in the bedroom and glanced around, really seeing it for the first time. The lights above his bed were blue, not orange, and the bed was larger. He hadn’t noticed before. The chair in the corner was the same, but there was a dressing gown in a soft pink fabric draped over the arm. It certainly wasn’t his. These weren’t his quarters; it was obvious now. He didn’t have an exterior cabin, yet he realized that he was standing there, watching stars streak past a viewport. 

But his uniform had been hanging in the closet. 

“I was in sickbay, and then I was in the holodeck with Harry,” he murmured. “I’m still in the holodeck. Computer, end programme!”

::please restate request::

His heart started to pound, and he held his breath before he started to hyperventilate. 

“Tom?”

It was a woman’s voice, coming from the other room, familiar but not. “Kes?” He crept into the main living area. She was seated in a dining chair, an empty bowl in front of her on the table and a padd in her hand. She was old, her hair gray and her face lined with wrinkles. The same woman he’d seen in sickbay when he’d thought he must have been dreaming.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stammered. 

“Sorry about what?” She tilted her head to one side as she stared at him. 

“I have to go. I have to see the captain.” 

She gestured to an empty chair at the table. “But don’t you want breakfast?”

“No.” He all but ran for the door and the safety of the corridor. “Computer, arch,” he said once he was safely outside the quarters. Nothing happened. He really didn’t expect anything to. 

He stopped abruptly. He didn’t even know which deck he was on. Luckily, the living quarters on each deck followed a pattern, so Tom continued to turn right until he came to a turbolift. He was on deck three. Where could he go? If he were still in the holodeck, and it was malfunctioning, it didn’t matter where he went. If he weren’t, if he were on some alternate _Voyager_... 

He should go see the captain, but when he’d woken in sickbay, the Doctor had called Chakotay, Captain. What had Chakotay said? That Janeway had died five years ago? They had only been in the Delta Quadrant for two… Unless this was a universe where he’d been assigned to _Voyager_ rather than the _Exeter_ when he’d graduated from the Academy. Where the ship had been pulled into the Delta Quadrant earlier. 

He shook his head, refusing to believe that he had somehow slipped into an alternate universe. It was surreal, science fiction. But… He thought of Harry and Naomi Wildman. Interacting with them day to day, it had simply slipped his mind that they had come from another _Voyager_ , one that its captain had destroyed, rather than allow it to be taken over by the Vidiians. Was this what it was like for Harry, then, to be surrounded by familiar faces but to know they weren’t really the people he knew? But Kes didn’t look the same; she wasn't familiar at all. She had aged years.

B’Elanna. She would know what to do to figure out what was going on, Tom decided, she always did. Obviously, the computer was malfunctioning; it thought she wasn’t onboard. He pressed the button for the ‘lift and was grateful when it arrived promptly—and empty. He called for deck nine, and caught his reflection in the doors’ shiny surface: he looked unsettled. He looked disturbed. He was. 

He was at her door in minutes, pressing the door chime, trying to figure out how to phrase what was happening to him. Surely she would believe him. Her door _swished_ open and Tom glanced up, her name forming on his lips. He froze. 

“Commander. Is there something I can do for you?” 

Sue Nicoletti stood in the doorway, her uniform jacket in one hand. Tom glanced at the panel: it was B’Elanna’s cabin. Should have been her cabin, but Nicoletti’s name was printed under the cabin number. Tom took a step back, shook his head. “I…no. Sorry.” 

He turned and rounded the corner, walking stiffly, muscle memory keeping him upright, before he stopped and slumped against the bulkhead. His face flooded with heat, and his throat spasmed. If B’Elanna wasn’t in her quarters, if they were no longer her quarters, then… It couldn’t be true; he wouldn’t let it be true! She would never have left _Voyager_ , left her friends and her position as chief engineer. The idea was ludacris. 

_Captain Janeway died five years ago._

_The events of that day were traumatizing for everyone on board; it’s possible that he’s repressing those memories._

His mind shied away from the thought that was trying to form in his head. Janeway dead. B’Elanna gone. Kes visibly older. Was this an alternate universe or was it his future? He felt his scalp prickle and fought down a wave of panic. He raised a hand to his combage and gave it a tap. “Paris to Kim.” His voice was tight.

“ _Kim here. What’s up, Tom_?”

Tom puffed a relieved breath. He’d halfway expected Harry to be gone, too. “I need to talk to you.”

“ _Oookay. We’re finishing up breakfast, why don’t you pop by?_ ”

“On my way.” Tom was just about to say, Paris out, when he realized that Harry had said _we_. “Where are you, Harry?”

There was a pause. “In our quarters, where else would we be?”

Harry, Linnis, the boy—Andrew. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” Tom closed the link, and stepped into the turbolift. “Computer, tell me the location of Harry Kim’s quarters,” he said.

::Lieutenant Harry Kim’s quarters are on deck three section five-a::

The other side of the ship. Ambassador’s quarters. Guest quarters or, apparently, family quarters. Tom closed his eyes. “Take me there,” he said.

*^*

They had a little time before duty call, so he was seated on the couch with a mug of coffee in his hand. The boy, Andrew, had rushed to him as soon as he entered the cabin, flinging his arms around his waist and calling him grandpa. He had talked about thrusters and pressure valves and astronavigation, and Tom tried not to flinch from him, had patted him on the shoulder and tried to appear normal to him, whatever the hell that was. He wasn’t sure anymore. 

Linnis had corralled Andrew and encouraged him to get dressed before he was late for his physics lesson with Icheb. Another stranger, Tom thought. His mother followed him into his bedroom, and Tom turned toward Harry and, for the first time, noticed the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and the extra pip on his collar. Like the one he’d found on his own dresser this morning; the one he’d ignored. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, suddenly serious. “What can’t you tell me in front of Linnis? Is it Kes?”

And just like that, it all fell into place. How a grown woman could call him dad. How Harry hadn’t really aged but somehow was the father of a school-age boy. Why Kes looked so old, and was in his quarters this morning, happily ensconced at the table like she belonged there. Because she did. Because they were her quarters, too. 

“Kes,” Tom said. His throat spasmed. He shook his head. It was wrong, fundamentally wrong, and he fought against the reality of a wife who wasn’t B’Elanna, of a grown, half-Ocampan daughter and Harry as his son in law… 

“What year is it?”

Harry squinted his confusion. “2379. Tom, you’re really acting weird. Did you hit your head or something? Should I call the doc?”

“Maybe, but not yet, Harry.” His throat felt tight. ”Tell me about when…” His mouth worked but no sound came out. B’Elanna. He needed to know about when B’Elanna left the ship. What had happened? How it was even possible that she would leave everyone, leave him, and abandon _Voyager_. Did it have something to do with Janeway’s death? Or with him? Had she rejected his pursuit of her, and he’d stupidly married Kes, instead? He couldn’t imagine it happening. It was fantastical. Ridiculous! 

He opened his mouth to ask another question when Andrew trotted back into the room. 

“Give your father a kiss goodbye,” Linnis said.

Andrew did, then hugged Tom and kissed him, too. Tom hugged him back awkwardly. 

“Can we practice flying in the holodeck later?” he asked.

“Um, maybe,” Tom answered. “We’ll see.” It was the best he could muster.

“Let’s go, you’re going to be late.” Linnis handed him a padd and pointed Andrew toward the door. 

Tom felt a little stab of guilt. They were beautiful, perfect, but he didn’t want this. Them. He wanted _his Voyager_ , the one with Janeway and B’Elanna, and a future that he’d mapped out in his head months ago. One that involved a prickly half-Klingon, not a sweet Ocampan. 

As soon as the door closed behind Andrew, Tom called to his daughter. “Linnis, please sit.”

“Dad?”

She was obviously curious at his change in mood, but he ignored her for now. He tapped his combadge. “Paris to Kes.”

“ _Tom? What is it?_ ”. She sounded confused, and he realized that he likely wasn’t formal when he commed his wife. He scrubbed his face with his hands. 

“Could you come to Harry’s quarters? I need to tell you something.”

“ _Of course. Is everything alright?_ ”

“I’ll explain when you get here. Tom, out.”

He knew he should comm the captain—Chakotay—too. Explain it all once instead of twice, but he didn’t know how long he had left here before he would shift—pop? jump?—to a new time or reality or timeline, whatever the hell it was. He didn’t know anything. What had the Doctor said? That his shuttle had flown through a cloud of chronitons? They were a byproduct of a rift in time, weren’t they? He wished he’d paid closer attention to his Temporal Physics class at the Academy, but speculative theory hadn’t interested him, then. He wished B’Elanna were here to help him figure this out because, even though he wasn’t entirely certain how to change this future, he knew he was going to try. Of course, if B’Elanna were here, _this_ wouldn’t be his future… 

He sat quietly for the handful of minutes it took Kes to arrive, not looking at Harry, instead staring into his coffee mug and avoiding his concern. He realized that he was hungry, and tried to count up the hours, the minutes, he’d been _awake_ since he’d woken in his own bed this morning, since his aborted lunch with B’Elanna when they’d tussled over the padd she’d been reading.

The doors opened with a soft _whoosh_ and Linnis jumped to her feet. 

“Mom.”

“What is it?” Kes asked. “What’s going on?” 

Tom looked up at her and felt an overwhelming pity for her: at the end of her life, he was about to destroy it. He took a breath. “This will sound crazy, but when I woke up this morning, the stardate was 50836.2.”

“But,” Kes said, “you woke up less than an hour ago in our quarters.”

“I mean, the first time I woke up,” Tom stated.

Harry‘s mouth stretched into an awkward smile. “Is this some sort of joke? Because, if it is, I don’t get it.”

“It’s not a joke, Harry. I thought maybe it was, but…” He took a breath. “When I woke up this morning,” he repeated, “I thought about asking B’Elanna to go sailing with me in the holodeck in my Lake Como programme.” He saw Kes flinch, and felt immediately contrite. He looked away from her. 

“We had breakfast in the mess; I used the last of my rations for a second helping of french toast. When we got to the bridge, we were contacted by the Vostigye.”

“The Vostigye…?” Harry squinted in concentration and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Tom, that was…” 

“Five years ago,” Tom nodded. “By the time we rendezvoused with their space station, it had been destroyed.”

“There was a wake of plasma particles leading away from the debris field, and we followed it.” Harry stared at him, remembering.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded. “I ended up taking a shuttle out to try to collect plasma and—”

“And it got sucked into that interfold layer of space when an astral eddy collapsed.” Harry’s voice was quiet. “We thought we’d lost you.” 

Kes cut in. “Wasn’t that the day that the Doctor’s family…” 

“Yes,” Tom agreed. Belle. He’d been injured, thrown from his seat at the helm of the shuttle by a spatial wake as he’d attempted to get back to _Voyager’s_ space. He’d been beamed back to _Voyager_ , and his head wound had been treated by the Doctor. Afterward, he had told Tom about Belle’s injury, and his decision to not complete the programme. He hadn’t wanted to face Belle’s death, and Tom had waxed poetic about the importance of family, and how _Voyager’s_ crew had become a family because of their shared pain and experiences. He’d impressed upon the Doc how important it was that he face the pain of Belle’s death so he could also experience the love and support of his wife and son, and support them in return. 

Tom glanced at Linnis and Kes, seated side by side on the couch, and looked away. The importance of family…

He swallowed. “I had dinner and went to bed early to read, then I went to sleep. The next thing I knew, I was in sickbay and you,” he motioned to Linnis, “and Andrew were there.”

“Sickbay?” Kes said. 

Tom held up a hand. “Please, I don’t know how much time I have.” He hated what he was about to say, that he had to say it. He looked at Linnis. “I don’t know you. I’m not married to Kes, I don’t have a daughter, and I certainly don’t have a grandson. I’m sorry.”

“Dad, what are you talking about?”

Tom could see the hurt and confusion on her face, the disbelief. He stood and paced away from all three of them.

“Tell me what else you remember.” Kes: quiet, focused. Calm. 

He turned back to look at her. She stared directly into his eyes, and he imagined he felt her inside him, like a warm breeze on his skin. He looked away. “People crowded around me. Voices. The Doctor told someone to activate the bio-temporal chamber, then he told everyone to leave.”

She nodded. “He's been working on one of those. We’ve discussed it.”

“And then I woke up and there was a boy, Andrew, standing over me talking about passing a flight test, calling me Grandpa.”

“Andrew hasn't even written that test yet,” Linnis stated, as if this fact was important, as if it disproved everything that Tom remembered. 

“But he was there,” Tom insisted, agitation making his volume rise. “The Doctor sent him to get Kes, and then I was cold, and then I was in the holodeck with Harry. Then I woke up in bed, and—”

“Tom, this sounds crazy,” Harry said.

“No crazier than having you as a son in law,” Tom shot back. 

“Dad, you’re not making any sense.” Linnis shook her head. “Maybe you were dreaming.”

“It feels more like a nightmare,” he murmured. At the look on her face, he was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I think that I’ve somehow slipped into a parallel universe, one that’s five years in my future.” 

“A parallel universe?” Harry scoffed. “Come on.”

Tom turned and raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry’s face flooded with colour. “I forget sometimes,” he admitted.

Tom shook his head. “I don’t belong here. I’m not your husband, Kes, I’m sorry. I come from your past. Kathryn Janeway is my captain, not Chakotay. B’Elanna is our chief engineer.” A look passed between Harry and Kes, and Tom frowned. “What?” he asked. Anxiety licked up his spine, and he was starting to have difficulty reining in his frustration.

Linnis pulled his arm. “Listen to me, Dad. You're confused right now and I'm sure that's very frightening, but you need to trust me. I'm your daughter and I love you. You need to come with me to sickbay.”

“Ha,” Tom scoffed. “I’ve had enough of sickbay.”

“Tom, I know that you believe that everything you just told us is true, but to us it’s impossible.” Kes’ voice was gentle. “You need to be examined by the Doctor. We need to get to the bottom of your memory loss. To rule out illness or injury.” 

Tom remembered that the Doctor had said something about _irregularities_ in his brain. He snorted a laugh and acquiesced; he was suddenly desperate to get out of there, to get away from Linnis and Harry. “Okay, fine,” he agreed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll take him,” Kes said when Linnis made a move toward the door. “You have to go on duty.” She reached for him and grasped his hand, then stilled. Her eyes jerked to his, and she frowned. 

It was obvious that Linnis wanted to argue, but she nodded her agreement. Tom ignored the look of concern in Harry’s eyes, and followed Kes out into the corridor, relieved to be leaving and headed toward the turbolift. His thoughts were churning. It was like a cheezy holonovel, but he was convinced that it was real. Had he somehow been transported to the future? No. Because that would mean that both B’Elanna and Janeway were gone, and that was unacceptable. 

Tom tried to remember anything else. He focused on details: Pleeka rind casserole for dinner again. B’Elanna, looking soft and lovely as she sat at a table reading a padd. She’d been embarrassed at being caught reading _Women Warriors at the River of Blood_. A _technical manual_. He’d lost the padd when they’d been called to the bridge, but found it again later, after the Doctor had released him, still on the table in the mess hall. He’d read the first three chapters before he’d fallen asleep last asleep last night… Then he’d woken up in sickbay inside that tube.

“Sometimes, when you held her, you’d trace her forehead with your finger, and I knew you were imagining her with dark hair and cranial ridges.”

Kes’ soft voice interrupted his thoughts and brought him back to the present. She sounded so matter-of-fact that Tom’s breath caught. It was like a sucker punch to the gut, more so because he’d just been thinking about B’Elanna. He stopped walking and stared at her. “Kes, no. Don’t.” He wondered if she’d read his thoughts. 

“It’s alright, Tom. I always knew when we came together that I was your second choice, that you felt like your future had been stolen from you. And I understood.”

He shook his head, remorse twisting his gut. “I can’t talk about this.”

“Tom, I do understand.” She was smiling at him. “We were happy with Linnis and Andrew, and I’ll always be grateful for the gift you gave me.” She laid a hand on his chest. “You were a good husband, Tom, and a wonderful father to Linnis, but I always knew—”

Grief rushed toward him, mixed with guilt over the pain he must be causing her. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Kes, but I can’t.” He wound his fingers around hers and gently pulled her hand away, breaking their contact, then continued down the corridor beyond the lift. Kes hurried after him. He stopped when he realized he was making her run. 

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know! Just… not here.” His gut ached and he felt slightly nauseated. He shivered, suddenly chilled. 

“Tom, you have to come with me to sickbay.” Her hand was on his arm again; her grip felt familiar but strange, too.

“It won’t help!” he shouted, feeling suddenly trapped by her concern. “Don’t you see, nothing has helped.” He tried to rein in his temper: Kes didn’t deserve to be snapped at. 

“Tom, I’m nine years old. I’m at the end of my life, and it’s been a good one thanks to you. But I always felt like I stole that life from B’Elanna.” Tom winced, and she cupped his cheek. “It’s alright. Really, it is; we can fix this together.”

The meaning behind her words finally filtered through his tangled thoughts, and for the first time he felt hope. “You believe me?” 

“Yes, I do.”

He gripped her shoulders, and she flinched and pulled away. 

“Your hands are freezing!”

He shivered, cold climbing up his spine. Damnit! He was running out of time. “Listen, Kes, you need to remember everything that I’ve told you. You’re the only one who can! Do you understand me?”

“Yes, of course, “I’ll remember. But what’s wrong?” 

Tom’s knees buckled as he convulsed with cold. “Before I jump, I get col—”


	4. Chapter 4

There were people crowded around him, some cheering, some singing, their shoulders bumping his. Someone jostled his elbow. He was clapping his hands, and his mouth was stretched into a smile. He froze. Harry and Linnis stood beside him, a much younger Andrew in his mother’s arms, and Kes was facing the crowd of well-wishers, smiling. Neelix, dressed in a gold ’fleet uniform, seemed to be leading the song.

“ _For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny._ ”

“Happy ninth, Kes.” Neelix grinned hugely as he presented her with a tall, blue cake covered in candles. Jimbalian fudge: her favourite. “Go ahead, make a wish.”

Kes looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Neelix asked. “Blow out the candles.” There were nine of them. 

She did so and everyone applauded and cheered. Tom looked around the mess: Chakotay, the Doctor, Tuvok, half of stellar cartography. A tall, strikingly beautiful woman with facial jewelry above one eye, wearing a skin-tight suit. A few other people from engineering. A tall, slim young man he didn’t know wearing the same odd facial jewelry as the blonde woman. 

“It's good to see that old lung is still working, Kessie.” Neelix joked as she blew out the flames. 

It was on the tip of Tom’s tongue to wish her a happy birthday. 

“You know, I haven't made one of these since, well, since I became a security officer,” Neelix babbled happily. 

Tuvok answered him, but Tom wasn’t paying attention. He moved next to Kes, and caught her hand in his, and she turned her head and smiled at him. Something shifted in her eyes, and her face slackened. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “This isn’t right…” she said. 

Neelix had taken the cake to a table to cut and serve it, and Harry had followed him, first in line. Wellwishers patted Kes on the shoulder, or hugged her, or gave her a kiss, but after each had their turn she looked back at Tom. Finally, she broke away from the circle of friends and stepped toward him, taking his arm and pulling him to a quiet corner of the mess. She smiled at him again, and he was suddenly afraid of what she might say; that she wouldn’t remember what he’d told her. 

“Tom, it’s alright. I remember.” She gave his arm a squeeze and he felt relief like a tangible thing. “I remember what you told me in the corridor outside Harry and Linnis’ quarters. But if today’s my ninth birthday, and our conversation has already happened...” She shook her head. “Look at Andrew.” She motioned to the baby in Linnis’ arms, appearing no older than a one-year-old human child. “You're going backwards, Tom.”

“Backwards?”

She nodded, smiling again. “Andrew is only a month old. You’ve jumped back six months. Don’t you realize what this means? Something must have happened to trigger this. Some incident in your future and in your pres—”

“And in my present! To make this—whatever this is—possible!”

“So if we can figure out what that incident was, maybe we can prevent it.”

Tom cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her cheek. He pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he said. He released her and sobered as he looked into her eyes. That she would do this for him, knowing that he wanted to change their life together, was overwhelming. “I understand what you’re giving up, and…” 

She shook her head. “But I’m not, not really. I remember it all.” 

He took a breath and released it slowly. It felt like the first deep breath he’d taken in hours. “You need to tell me everything that’s happened in the last five years. Especially about…” He couldn’t say her name. He was too afraid of what Kes would tell him.

She squeezed his arm and nodded. “I will.”

*^*

He was back in his quarters, on the sofa. Kes’ quarters, not his. She’d taken a box of replicated photographs from a shelf and handed them to him, one by one, explaining them to him. Just the fact that they were on paper had convinced him that they were his; he doubted that anyone else on board would insist on that. It was overwhelming. There was a photo of the senior staff in the mess hall, including Neelix and Kes, celebrating some holiday, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention. He had his arms around B’Elanna, hugging her from behind. His chin rested on her shoulder, and she had turned her head so she was looking at him, not the camera. Her lips were curved in a soft, indulgent smile, and Tom was sure he saw love shine in her eyes. For him. Kes had given him a moment, looked away, but even though Tom knew he should feel something—anger, remorse, grief—he sat stone faced as he stared at the photograph. For him, it hadn’t happened yet.

There was a photo of their wedding, him and Kes, her hair long and curling, a coronet of flowers on her head, and Harry beside him as best man. One of Linnis as a baby, all chubby cheeks and big eyes. One of her as a little girl in pigtails. Linnis as a young woman blowing out a single candle on a birthday cake, Kes proud and lovely beside her. Photos of Harry and Linnis’ wedding, Andrew’s birth, one of Tom holding him with tears in his eyes. 

He felt nothing. This wasn’t his life, this man in the photos looked like him, but wasn’t him. It was easier to think of this as an alternate universe than as his predestined future. He couldn’t imagine a future where he and Kes would marry and have a child. None of it was real to him. 

While he’d been sorting through the photos, Kes had been reading her way through a stack of padds.

“What about this?” She held the padd out to him. “On stardate 51252.3, during the first Krenim attack, almost everyone got radiation poisoning after one of their chroniton torpedo fragments leaked radiation into the ship.”

Tom froze. The computer had told him that was the same date that B’Elanna had _ceased to be a member of the crew_. “Chroniton torpedoes?”

“Krenim torpedoes are in a constant state of temporal flux,” Kes informed him. “That’s how they were able to penetrate our shields. That was the beginning of the Year of Hell.”

“Year of Hell, ” Tom repeated. He shook his head. He was glad he’d missed it. 

Kes nodded, emotion roughening her voice. “That's what some of us call it now. We were under virtually constant attack by a race called the Krenim. We almost didn't survive. The Doctor was offline for months, and we lost a lot of good people. Captain Janeway, Joe Carey.”

“B'Elanna,” Tom said.

“I’m sorry.” At least she didn’t attempt to prevaricate. 

This time Tom did feel something and sorrow tightened his gut, made his chin quiver. He pressed his lips together into a thin line. Kes reached toward him and put a hand on his knee. Tom shrugged her off and stood, and took two long strides toward the viewport. “Tell me,” he said. His throat was tight; his voice sounded choked. 

Kes’ expression, reflected in the glass of the viewport, was full of sympathy. “You’d only been together for a month or so.”

Emotion welled up in his chest and squeezed his throat. A month! He’d only had a month with her? It seemed cruel somehow. He felt tears prick his eyes, but couldn’t contain the smile that split his mouth. Because even if it had only been for a few weeks, she had loved him! He turned and looked at Kes, his wife: she was still, her expression carefully bland. “I’m sorry,” he began. 

“It’s alright. I keep forgetting that you don’t…you don’t remember us.” She seemed to shrug off whatever she’d been thinking and straightened. “When B’Elanna died, you said you felt like you wanted to die too, but I helped you through it and we…” 

Tom sighed. “Kes, I—”

“Please, don’t apologize again.” She looked at him with the same patience and understanding that had made her a wonderful nurse.

“How did she die?” He had to know, even though he didn’t want to hear. If he knew, he could prevent it. 

“She and Captain Janeway died in the initial attack. They were on the bridge when a console exploded. It was quick, Tom. She didn’t suffer.”

He closed his eyes and kept tears at bay by force of will alone. It would serve him better—serve her better—to get angry, instead. It simmered in his belly, tightened his jaw. “How long did I wait before we got married?” His words were raw, ripped from his throat. “Did I even bother to grieve for her?” 

“Tom, don’t,” Kes said. She came up behind him and rested her head on his back. “Of course you grieved. We all did. You were broken for a long time. We were worried you wouldn’t come back to us.”

Tom glanced back at Kes, his wife in this timeline, a good friend in his own. One he hadn’t truly appreciated until now. “Who else?” he asked. “I haven’t seen Ayala or Chapman or Jenkins. Jenny wasn’t at your party.”

“Jenny is fine,” Kes assured him. 

“And the others?” Kes shook her head. “Sam Wildman? Naomi?”

“Tom.” Kes stood and took his hands in hers. “They’re alright. Naomi is almost grown. We can go through the crew manifest if you like, but will it really matter if we manage to fix this?”

Her skin felt like old paper, warm and soft. He stared at the raised veins on the backs of her hands, the thinness of her fingers. He smiled. “No. You’re right,” he said. “If we can figure this out, we can bring them all back. You said something about chroniton radiation. If I was infected with these chroniton particles, then there might be a connection to what's happening to me now.”

“There must be. What else do you remember from your timeline?”

“The particle distortion.” He mentally reviewed what he’d said in Harry’s quarters. “The shuttle!” He’d taken out a shuttle to get close to the astral eddy in hopes of collecting some of the plasma particles. He’d been sucked into a layer between space and subspace when the eddy had disappeared, taking him with it. He remembered he’d been hurt, his head had connected with the deck when he’d been tossed out of his chair by the wake. 

“Wait a minute,” Kes said, hope and excitement building in her voice. “I think we may be onto something. Before you took the shuttle into the eddy, the Doctor gave you something to prevent radiation poisoning.” She picked up a padd and typed in a query. “Stardate 50836.2. The Doctor gave you a combination of hyronalin and lectrazine.”

“When the eddy disappeared, my shuttle was sucked into an interfold layer between space and subspace. I remember it was beautiful, in an eerie kind of way.” He smiled. “I remember thinking I wanted to create a holodeck programme of it. It would make a great training programme for the pilots.” Or a great place to take B’Elanna for a picnic.

“You did.” Kes smiled at him. “That’s the programme Andrew is so eager to try.” 

He shook his head, determined to keep to the subject at hand. “What if, when I was in that interfold layer, I was exposed to something we couldn’t detect? When I woke up in sickbay, the second time, the Doc said that my shuttle had flown into a cloud of loose chronitons. Maybe that triggered the dormant chroniton radiation poisoning you mentioned. Those two events are like the abutments of a bridge, and that’s why I’m jumping through time?”

She raised her hands and held them in front of her, about forty centimetres apart. “This,” she waggled her right hand, “is the moment when you were infected by some unknown substance on that mission six years ago.” Tom nodded. She waved her left, “And this is when your shuttle will fly through a chroniton particle cloud a few months from now.”

“Yes.” Tom nodded again.

“The bridge is your life, one point to the next. What does the bridge span?”

“Space? Time? They say time is a river because it only flows in one direction.”

“But don’t rivers sometimes reverse course?”

“With a catastrophic weather event, maybe.” Tom stilled, then his eyes widened with a sudden though. “That interfold layer, those astral eddies of plasma, they were like a space tornado.” He couldn’t help but grin.

“You're moving backwards through your life,” Kes continued. “Somehow, you bounced from one end of the bridge to the other, and now you're moving back to the beginning.”

He nodded. “Maybe. But it doesn’t explain why I ended up six months from now. Wouldn’t it make more sense that I would be pulled to when that torpedo flooded the ship with chroniton radiation? Or to the moment I flew into that cloud? But I jumped to when I was being treated in sickbay, at least three days after the shuttle accident. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Tom started to pace again as a thought struck him. He didn’t like it, but it seemed possible. Probable. Or at least no more _improbable_ than anything else they’d proposed. “Maybe,” he paused as he rolled the idea around on his tongue, “maybe I was pulled to the moment when I die. You said yourself that I’m going backwards. It makes sense then that I’d start at the end and move toward the beginning.” Tom stilled. “How far back will I go?”

“I hope we don’t find out,” she said quietly. “I think it’s time we went to the Doctor and explained what’s going on.”

Tom dismissed the idea. “I don’t see what he can do for me. Maybe we should try scanning for residual temporal anomalies in the space-time continuum.”

Kes took his hand. “Please, Tom. The Doctor could scan you. If you are moving through time, he should pick up some residual traces of radiation or...” She shrugged, at a loss.

He saw a flash of helplessness in her eyes and sighed in resignation. “Okay,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”

*^*

“As far as I can tell I've jumped backwards five or six times so far.”

Tom was seated on the diagnostic bed while the Doctor ran a tricorder over him and _tut-tutted_. He wondered if when he finally did die (likely not of old age) someone would erect a plaque: The Thomas Eugene Paris Memorial Diagnostic Couch. He snorted. 

“Is there any discernible pattern to these jumps?” the Doctor asked.

“I’m cold before it happens. Freezing.”

“Interesting. Anything else?”

“Aside from my going backwards, they're apparently random. Once, I think I jumped a few days, and the last was six months. Each time I arrive I seem to exist in temporal sync with the rest of you for a while. I can talk, interact. This has been the longest so far.” He glanced at Kes and she nodded. 

“And what makes you believe you’re travelling backwards?” He tapped the tricorder, then walked over to the diagnostic interface and pressed a few more buttons. 

Tom didn’t like his tone. “Well,” he said with exaggerated civility, “when I first met Andrew he looked about nine years old. Now he’s a baby. But I jumped forward five years first.”

The Doctor glanced up and stared at him for a moment. “Tell me from the beginning.”

“The beginning.” His mouth lifted in a sad smile. “50836.2. That was yesterday’s stardate, for me, anyway.” 

The Doctor stilled and looked back at the computer monitor. “I see.” 

“I remember you patched me up, and we talked after—”

“Yes,” the Doctor cut him off. “What else?”

“I had a late dinner, went to bed and read a book. Then I woke up in sickbay.”

“Imagine my surprise.”

“You told me I’d flown a shuttle through a cloud of chroniton particles. I’d been unconscious for three days.”

“I told you? You don’t remember the accident?”

Tom shook his head. “No. I was inside some sort of tube. You called it a bio-temporal chamber.”

The Doctor frowned and glanced at Kes. “We’ve discussed constructing one, as you know, in hopes it might prolong Kes’ life. But we’re still in the theory stage. We haven’t built it yet.” His expression softened as he looked at her. “But even if we had one, it would be calibrated for Kes’ unique physiology. It wouldn’t work on you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it didn’t.”

“So you think something about the chamber has made you jump through time? It sounds a little far fetched. I'll need to run a series of tests. It’s more likely that you’re having a mental break, likely stress-induced.” He turned toward a large piece of diagnostic equipment and reached for it. 

“Doctor,” Kes interrupted. “I remember too. Tom called me, will call me, to Linnis’ and Harry’s quarters. He told us that he had no memory of our marriage, our life together.” She sent Tom a reassuring smile. “I remember the conversation, and I remember that Andrew wasn’t there because he’d gone to engineering for his physics lesson.”

“But he’s just a baby, he’s much too young…” His voice trailed off and he nodded. “So, you’re jumping backwards as well?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I do remember speaking with Tom six months from now. It’s like, I don’t remember and then, suddenly, I do when I see him.”

“Perhaps you’re picking up his thoughts? Your mental abilities were never something I could fully diagnose.” 

“No, it’s more than that.” Kes shook her head. “I remember things I was doing, I will be doing, memories that Tom couldn’t possibly share: getting my breakfast that morning, the padd I was reading. When I was on my way to Harry and Linnis’ quarters, I met Andrew in the corridor as he was waiting for the turbolift to take him to engineering.”

The Doctor frowned at the monitor. “Hmm. Now this could explain a thing or two.”

“What is it?” Tom asked.

“I'm detecting a high level of chroniton radiation in your cells.”

“But Tom was inoculated along with the rest of the crew over five years ago,” Kes said. “Why would the chroniton particles be multiplying now?”

“Despite their inoculations, everyone was left with trace amounts of the radiation in their bodies. For some reason, those residual chronitons have reactivated in Tom. But his levels are far higher than they were when we discovered the radiation poisoning.”

“I think, when I was in the interfold layer, I must have been exposed to chroniton particles. The astral eddies made a tear in subspace, and that leaves--”

“Chroniton radiation. Of course.” 

“Then that chroniton torpedo exposed me to more particles, then I’ll be exposed again, six months from now! So we were right,” Tom said. He smiled at Kes. “There is a connection. That’s why I was pulled to the day I’m in the chamber.”

“What if,” Kes suggested, “when Tom flies into that cloud, it somehow ‘woke’ the dormanant chroniton radiation in his cells. Would that have been why you’d put him in the chamber?”

“Possibly,” the Doctor conceded. “But instead of slowing their growth, it increased it.” He focused on Tom. “I can only surmise that what you claim has happened to you has actually happened. And your higher chroniton readings are because of the bio-temporal chamber,” he said.

Kes nodded. ”Then you believe us?”

“Stranger things have happened in the Delta Quadrant,” the Doctor said, dryly. “How long has it been since your last time shift, Tom?”

Tom glanced at Kes. “A couple of hours? I jumped into Kes’ birthday party in the mess hall.”

“And the duration of your stay in each time. Is it getting longer?”

“Not that I can tell. It’s just random,” Tom answered. “Doc, there’s something else. In my present, I’d just come back from that interfold layer between space and subspace. That has to have something to do with what’s been happening to me.” 

The Doctor’s mouth firmed. “We’d better speak with the Captain.”


	5. Chapter 5

They were seated around the briefing room table: Tuvok, Chakotay, Harry, Tom and Kes. And the woman in the bodysuit—Seven. The Doctor was standing beside the computer display, the schematics for the bio chamber on the screen. He was giving the gathered officers a rundown on how the chamber worked and why he thought it may have triggered Tom’s trip through time. Tom fidgeted in his seat, willing the Doctor to get on with it. He wanted to move, wanted to burn off some of this excess energy that was coursing through him. 

“In approximately six months, I will apparently expose Commander Paris to some type of bio-temporal field in a highly experimental but nonetheless brilliant attempt to save his life.”

“And it's this attempt which leads to his current predicament?” Chakotay asked.

“We believe so. What I will apparently fail to realise is that the bio-temporal field is going to reactivate the dormant chroniton particles in his cells, bringing him out of temporal sync with the rest of us.” 

“Is there any way to stop Tom from continuing these jumps?” Chakotay asked.

“Yes. Purge him completely of the chroniton poisoning.”

“Wait!” Tom sat up in his seat and gave Chakotay his full attention. “I don’t want to stop. I need to get back to my own time. I need to get home.”

“It is possible, if we purge you of the radiation, that you will go back to your time,” Seven said.

“And it’s possible I’ll be stuck here!”

“Would that be so bad?” Harry stared at him a moment, then looked at Chakotay. “To even do that we'd need to know the precise temporal variance of the specific torpedo that contaminated the ship.” He glanced at Tom, seemed to assess him. “That’s not possible now.”

“Why not?” Tom asked.

“Tactical sensors were not functioning at the time of the attack,” Tuvok said. “There is no data regarding the torpedo in question.”

“Then we’ll just have to figure out how to get it,” Kes said. At Tom’s look of alarm, she smiled. “Seven is right. Think, Tom, if we can prevent your exposure to the radiation in that torpedo, then you won’t have any residual chronitons to reactivate. It won’t matter if you eventually fly through that chroniton cloud, you’ll never start jumping through time.”

“I hope you're right.”

“Maybe you’ll pop back to the day the torpedo got stuck in the ship,” Harry suggested.

Tom shook his head, irritation lending an edge to his tone. “It’s not like I can control it, Harry,” he snapped. 

“But you may be drawn there,” Kes suggested.

“It is possible he may stop at that time,” Seven said.

“I’m hoping I’ll stop when I get to my present.”

“But you may not. You may continue to jump further backwards,” the Doctor cautioned.

“Let me get one thing straight, Doctor,” Chakotay said. “Is it possible, if this keeps happening to Tom, that he might actually jump back into a time before he knows any of us?”

Tom glanced at him and their eyes met across the table. Tom had a sudden, vivid flash of memory of a younger, angrier Chakotay and a smokey bar. He glanced away.

“Worse than that, Captain. It's possible he may eventually jump back to a time before he even existed.”

*^*

“I'm going to try running a hypothalamic scan. Maybe we can establish a pattern to the drops in your body temperature.”

Tom was back on the diagnostic bed and Linnis was puttering with medical equipment, walking back and forth between the diagnostic computer and the bed’s controls. She crossed to a supply cupboard and selected an instrument, then came back and laid it on the bed beside him. She didn’t look him in the eyes. 

“You're very good at this,” Tom tried. 

“I had a very good teacher.” Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact.

“The Doctor?”

“Mom.” She raised her chin and stared at him. He saw a mixture of hurt and defensiveness in her expression, and he had a fleeting urge to pull her into a hug and reassure her that everything would be okay. But he didn’t want to lie to her. 

He’d already said goodbye to her once, mentally divorced her from his life. That had been hard enough. Kes had been the one to tell her their plan, but she hadn’t taken the news any better coming from her mother. 

“I'm sorry,” Tom said, meaning it. “All this must be taking you away from your baby. You must be wanting to spend every second with him.”

“Why do you care? If you had your way, he—” She clamped her lips together and firmed her jaw in a way that Tom recognized immediately. It was like looking in a mirror. 

“Linnis, I’m sorry.” He reached for her arm but she shrugged out of his light grip. “I know this is hard to understand and that you’re upset—”

“Upset! Upset? You want to destroy everything that I have; me. All because B’Elanna died and you can’t accept that. I never even met her, and you want me to sacrifice my baby so you can save her.”

“No.” Tom was hit with the full force of her anger and pain. “No, that’s not true. If there was a way…” A way for what? To keep them all? It wasn’t possible. “The Tom Paris who is your father, that man isn’t me. But I know he must love you as much as you love your baby.” He shook his head. “This isn’t my life, it’s his. And I’m sure he wants it back.” For the first time, he wondered where that future Tom was. _If_ he was.

“Dad, if you believe that, why are you doing this?” 

“Because it’s not fair to him, either, to take his place. I know he’ll want to watch Andrew grow up, and to see you with him. You’re a wonderful mother.” 

She drew away from him slightly, and her eyes shuttered again. “Actually,” she paused, “I feel a little awkward around him sometimes. Harry's always singing to him and playing with him but I seem to be more comfortable with a molecular scanner than I am with a diaper.”

It hurt him to see his daughter in pain. “That’s normal,” Tom said. “A baby disrupts your whole routine and sometimes it takes a while to get used to—”

“It’s not that! He’s a happy baby. He almost never cries. I just don’t really know what to do with him, how to entertain him. And I’m worried that I won’t bond with him properly, and that he won’t be able to form healthy relationships when he’s older.”

Tom felt himself deflate, felt a weight settle onto his shoulders. “Linnis, you must be a good mother. I happen to know that Andrew grows up to be a wonderful boy. He’s smart, polite, happy. And I saw for myself how much you love him, how good you are with him. Not everyone is comfortable around babies. It just takes time.”

She stiffened and raised her chin. “Well, we may not have time, because if you change the past, neither of us will exist. And he’ll never grow—”

She cut off what she was about to say, clamping her mouth closed on the words. It was an accusation, and Tom saw that she was holding on to her temper, stifling her emotions the way he always had, the way he’d learned to do from his father. It made him feel slightly sick to think that he had taught her that; he never thought that he would raise his own child that way. Kes’ words came back to him and he wondered, had he bonded with Linnis when she was a baby, or had he spent those months wishing she were someone else? Surely she would have picked up on his detachment, his grief, even without an Ocampan’s psychic abilities. 

The idea made him feel immeasurably guilty. 

“Linnis,” he took her hands in his, “I’m not sure it works that way. I think, because this timeline already exists, it’ll continue to exist with your Tom Paris. I’ll just go back to my own.” He had a sneaking suspicion that he was lying to her, that future timelines weren’t the same thing as alternate universes, but he wasn’t sure. B’Elanna would know, of course. B'Elanna and Janeway. 

“Tom,” the Doctor interrupted them. “I may have found a way to prevent your next jump until we can learn more about what’s happening with you. I can erect a containment field that may keep you here. It's going to require your confinement in sickbay.”

Tom looked at his daughter. “Will you stay with me?”

She opened her mouth then paused in thought for a moment, weighing the decision, then finally nodded. Her mouth lifted in a small smile. “Maybe we could have Harry bring Andrew.”

He remembered the photograph of him holding his newborn grandson, the raw emotion on his face captured by the camera. On this thought came the memory of the awkward hug he’d given the boy before he went off to his physics lesson. He should have really hugged him, should have picked him up off the floor in a breath-stealing, rib-crunching bear hug! Should have held him and kissed him the way he’d wished his own father would, when he was a boy. 

Tom smiled. “I’d like that,” he said sincerely.

Linnis turned away and tapped her combadge, calling Harry. Tom could hear the baby coo and squeal over the open link. He smiled at the sound, then shivered, suddenly cold. Gooseflesh rose on his skin. “No!” he shouted. “No, damnit, not again.” 

“Dad?” As Linnis turned back toward him, fear flashed in her eyes. 

He reached for her as another shudder passed through him. “No,” Tom said, “I don’t want to go yet.”

“Dad, wai—”


	6. Chapter 6

He was kneeling on the floor of a shuttle, Kes seated at his side, holding a newborn. The baby had huge blue eyes and tiny, delicate fingers, and her little mouth was open in a surprised-looking O. It was Linnis, it had to be. Tom reached tentatively and trailed a finger down her velvety soft cheek. She made a grunting, hiccuping sound and he felt tears prick his eyes. How could he have ever wanted her to be anyone but her perfect, beautiful little self? If he’d been so twisted with grief over B’Elanna’s death, he had no business marrying Kes in the first place, then fathering a daughter who doubted her father’s love for her. 

He shook his head. It was inconceivable. He glanced at Kes to find her watching him. Her skin was rosey and dotted with perspiration, and her long hair was mussed and tangled. She looked lovely. “Are you alright?” he asked. The baby cooed and he glanced at her again. 

“Yes,” Kes answered. She was still, watching him watch Linnis. “I remember, Tom.” Her voice was quiet, and she sounded sad. For just a moment he saw the allure of this life, and was tempted. 

An insistent _beeping_ came from the conn and he stood. “Let me check that,” he said as he made his way to the front of the shuttle.

“ _Voyager_ is under attack,” Kes said. 

A quick check confirmed it. Tom was torn. He knew he should return to the ship immediately to help, but what lunatic brought a newborn baby to a battle? 

“It’s them,” Kes said, “It’s the Krenim. Tom, we have to go back.”

He nodded tightly and slid into his seat, hoping he would stay in this time long enough to help _Voyager, and_ to figure out the frequency of that torpedo. It took mere minutes to return to _Voyager_. He had to dodge weapons’ fire from the attacking ship, and risked a glance at Kes and Linnis, to assure himself that he hadn’t tossed them out of the seat. 

“Don’t worry about us,” Kes said. 

He slipped underneath the Krenim ship, and came about and fired at their phaser array. He didn’t want to risk drawing their attention but _Voyager_ was getting pounded. They broke off their attack and slid under _Voyager’s_ belly, then whipped around toward the shuttle bay. 

He landed the shuttle safely, and helped Kes to her feet. She had wrapped the baby in a blanket. Her eyes were closed, her lips pouting in sleep. Tom lifted her from Kes’ arms and settled her in his own. He cradled her soft warmth and love washed over him, heady and sweet, swamping him, threatening to overwhelm him. It stole his breath. 

Neelix met them in the corridor outside the shuttlebay. “I’m so relieved that you’re both all right!” He enthused. “Oh, my, look at her! She’s—“

Tom cut off his congratulations, and handed him the baby. “Find someplace for Kes to rest,” he said. “I need to find Chakotay.”

“Of course,” Neelix responded. “You know I’ll look after them.”

Tom clasped his arm. “Yeah, I do.” He smiled at Neelix, and ran a finger down the baby’s soft cheek, then moved towards Kes. He cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “It’ll be okay,” he promised.

She smiled at him. “I know it will.”

He found Chakotay on the bridge. The Krenim hadn’t lessened their attack, so Tom didn’t bother to tell him what was happening with him. Why bother? This obviously wasn’t the first time they’d attacked the ship, so there was nothing Tom could gain from telling his story. He simply had to play out his time here. 

Chakotay ordered him to the weapons array to modulate the targeting scanners in hopes they could knock out the Krenim’s chroniton torpedo launchers. Tom lost time trying to find his way through the broken ship. With the ‘lifts out of commission, and debris littering the corridors, it was slow going. There was life support on only three decks, and he’d had to find a working respirator before he could get to the array. He’d expected to _jump_ out before he could even get there, and worried that a torpedo would rip a hole through _Voyager,_ ending his journey and his life. 

It felt like hours after he and Kes had arrived, after he’d reached the array and they’d incapacitated the Krenim ship enough to escape, before he finally took a few minutes to head back to the mess hall to check on Kes and the baby. She was sitting with Chakotay and Neelix, Linnis still bundled in her blanket and asleep in her arms.

“Kes told us what's been happening to you, Tom,” Chakotay said. “It’s quite a story. How are you holding up?”

“About the same as everyone else,” he answered. He scrubbed his face with his palms and felt the prick of stubble on his chin. He realized that he was hungry. He wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten in this time. How long it had been since he’d rested. He glanced at the baby and touched her hand, held it in his palm.

“Just before the last jump we were close to a solution. The Doctor was working on—”

“The Doctor?” Chakotay interrupted. “Well it's good to know we'll eventually get him back online.”

“Eventually may be too late,” Kes said. “We've got to help Tom now.”

“We discovered that what's been happening to me is related to the chroniton poisoning we all got during a Krenim attack. We have to determine the exact temporal variance of the torpedo.”

“The main computer's been offline for weeks.” Chakotay shook his head. “Even if the sensor logs contain that information, we can't access them.”

Tom shivered. He looked at Kes, his eyes widening in panic.

“What is it?” she asked. 

“Kes, I’m cold!”

“Life support is in grey mode,” Chakotay said. “ I’ll get you a blanket.” 

He turned to search for one, but Tom halted him, clutching at his arm. “No, Chakotay, you don’t understand. Before I jump to a new time, I get co—”

*^*^*^*

There was music and the sound of animated chatter. Someone laughed. A warm breeze brought the scent of flowers. Tom glanced around, confused. “What’s happening…” He was on the holodeck, in the resort programme, in the middle of a party. He wondered for a moment if it was the luau, the one where Vorik had monopolized B’Elanna’s company a few weeks before their ill-fated mission to find gallicite deposits on Sakari IV.

“Oh, hello, Tom.” Neelix greeted him warmly. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He indicated the patio with its pots of flowers and stands of candles, the buffet table laden with fruit and various finger foods, with an expansive wave of her hand. “I have outdone myself this time, if I do say so myself.” He chuckled. 

“Where’s the captain?”

“Oh, I think she’s over there with Commander Chakotay. What’s wrong? Is something the matter?” 

“You said _she_ ,” he said. He saw Kes talking to Tricia Jenkins and called to her. “Kes!”

She turned and smiled at him, then stilled. She raised a hand to her temple, and sobered. Tom raised an eyebrow, hoping. “Do you...?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“Yes.” She glanced around the resort programme. “Tom they’re alive, but--.”

Before she could finish, he heard his name. “Tom!” He turned around in time to see B’Elanna hurry across the patio toward them. Relief swamped him at the sight of her. She reached for him and slid a warm hand up his chest to his shoulder, then stretched up to kiss him quickly on the mouth. Her lips were soft and warm, and they made his tingle. Her breath puffed against his cheek.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said.

She smiled at him, and as she drew back, he clutched at her. His gut clenched: he wanted to hang onto her and never let go. “B’Elanna?” He was suddenly breathless, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Last time I checked.” She grinned, and he heard humour in her voice, then her expression sobered. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

Tom pulled her into a tight hug. “Not anymore.” He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, allowing himself the indulgence of just feeling her, warm and alive in his arms. Sakari felt like an eon ago. He loosened his grip and pulled back just enough to look at her. She was smiling, but he saw the confusion in her eyes. 

She laughed lightly. “How would you have reacted if I’d been twenty minutes late instead of fifteen?”

He cupped her jaw, rubbed her cheekbone with his thumb. “Try it next time and find out,” he suggested. 

“Tom,” she frowned, “what’s with you toni—”

The ship shook and Tom almost fell over. He caught B’Elanna as she stumbled. ‘No!’ he thought. Was this it? Was this the attack that would result in her and the captain dying? Adrenaline shot through him and his heart pounded in his ears. Please, not yet, he thought. It was too soon. He’d just got her back! 

The red alert klaxon sounded and the programme ended, the holodeck once again becoming a grey and gold grid. Crewmembers headed for the exit, and Tom turned and searched for Kes, but he couldn’t see her through the throng of crew. B’Elanna was already striding out the door, and Tom followed her, heading for the ‘lift. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to drag her back here and keep her away from danger. But what if this wasn’t the time? What if not reporting to battle stations killed them all?

Janeway was right behind him, speaking into her combadge, demanding a report. 

“ _A ship has decloaked directly in front of us, Captain. They have fired torpedoes._ ” It was Tuvok, of course.

“Decloaked? Have they identified themselves?”

“ _Negative, Captain. Shields down to—_ ”

They reached the bridge and ran to their stations. 

“—seventy-two percent, Captain,” Tuvok said. 

Tom raced past the Captain and tapped Baytart on the shoulder, relieving him. As he slid into his chair, he heard Janeway order Tuvok to fire phasers. The viewscreen lit up with red fire. 

“Who the hell are they?” Chakotay growled.

Tom checked his readings, not that he had to, he could tell from the ship itself. “They’re called the Krenim,” he said. He didn’t bother to turn in his chair, concentrating instead on guiding _Voyager_ through a series of rolls in an attempt to dodge their energy weapons. 

“How do you know that?” Janeway demanded.

“Tom’s right. It’s them.” 

Kes must have followed them to the bridge. Tom risked a glance over his shoulder. She was standing at the railing behind the Captain’s chair, staring at the alien ship on the screen. 

“What is it, Kes?” Janeway asked. “What do you know about them?”

The screen lit with a red glare as a missile streaked toward them, the enemy’s energy weapons supplying covering fire that crackled against their shields, washing the screen in white before it automatically dimmed. 

“Shields down to thirty-nine percent, Captain.”

“Evasive manoeuvres, Mister Paris.”

He didn’t need to be told. The ship juddered, and Tom was thrown violently against the conn. He felt his neck crack, and a flare of white-hot pain shot down his spine. Carefully, he flexed his fingers. He was fine. He keyed in a course correction, hoping to shake off the Krenim ship. No such luck.

“I don't understand how these torpedoes are ripping right through our shields,” Chakotay said.

“Captain, their torpedoes are chroniton based. They're passing through our shields because they're in a state of temporal flux.” Kes again. Tom was glad she had taken it upon herself to explain. 

“A moment, Kes,” Janeway said, “B’Elanna, can we reroute power to the forward shields?”

“Already trying, Captain.” 

B’Elanna answered, but her voice hadn’t come over the comm as Tom had expected. He risked a glance to his right and watched as she was slammed against the engineering console when the ship took another hit. 

“Wait! No!” He spun in his chair and stared at B’Elanna. “You can’t be here.” He hadn’t realized that she’d followed him onto the bridge, hadn’t noticed her at the engineering post. He’d assumed that she’d gone to main engineering. 

He watched as Janeway struggled to B’Elanna’s station, saw Kes start to follow. “Kes, explain,” the Captain ordered. 

Tom started to rise, B’Elanna’s name on his lips, when the deck lurched beneath his feet as another torpedo got through their shields and struck the ship. He was thrown violently back into his chair, and saw B’Elanna’s station erupt in a shower of sparks and flame, watched helplessly as she was tossed through the air like a ragdoll, Janeway with her. They landed with a sickening _thud_ at Kes’ feet. 

Time slowed down. His vision narrowed to her, sprawled limp and lifeless on the deck. 

“B’Elanna!” He screamed. He leapt from his chair to kneel at her side, his knees skidding along the carpet. He brushed her hair from her face, but even in his grief and panic he could see that her head was lying at an impossible angle: her neck was clearly broken. Her eyes were open and staring, her mouth slack, a thin trail of blood escaping between her lips. He trailed his fingers down her cheeks, over her lips, down her throat. It wasn’t fair! Five minutes ago she was in his arms: she’d kissed him. 

“They're dead,” Kes confirmed. Her voice sounded small, hollow.

Tom couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face the pity that was sure to be in her eyes. He didn’t deserve it. He was supposed to prevent this!

“Hull breach on deck seven. We're losing life support.” Harry.

“Evacuate the deck and seal it off!” Chakotay shouted. “Tom, I need you at the conn. Tom!”

He felt numb, drugged, and his head felt heavy. He looked into Chakotay’s face, and briefly wondered why he was so upset, why he would bother anymore. The ship shook again, and another console exploded behind him, and Chakotay’s words registered. Tom nodded and climbed to his feet. “Aye, sir.”

“Commander, they are arming torpedo launchers again. We cannot sustain another direct hit.” 

And then he remembered. B’Elanna, warm and alive in his arms, had driven the memory of the sensor array from his mind. “Tuvok,” Tom looked at him as he slid into his seat, “remodulate the targeting scanners to a parametric frequency. If we’re quick, we might be able to destroy the torpedo launchers before they fire.” 

“Mister Tuvok, you heard the man. Tom, bring us about.”

Destroy before. Tom would jump again; he had no reason to believe he wouldn’t. And if he could jump back far enough, he could prevent them from encountering the Krenim altogether. Such a simple plan: avoidance. How many times had they gone out of their way to explore a phenomenon, to meet a new species in hopes of trading with them or just learning about them? At heart, _Voyager_ was a ship of discovery, not a battleship. 

He checked the readings on his console and memorized their coordinates, hoped he would live through this battle long enough to trace their route here so that, when the time came, he could warn Janeway to go over or around or under Krenim space.

“Ready, Commander,” Tuvok again.

“Fire!”

The Krenim ship exploded in a ball of flame, washing the bridge with light. Tom couldn’t bring himself to care. 

*^*

Tom had been drafted into his old role as medic, assigned to the makeshift hospital ward in the mess hall. Every surface held injured friends and comrades, the floor was a maze of cots. Though they kept their voices low, he overheard Harry’s situation report to Chakotay.

They had lost eleven people including Janeway and B’Elanna. Joe Carey was the de facto chief engineer, but he wouldn’t be for long. Tom remembered that he would die soon, too. Power was down on decks four through twelve, and the starboard shield generators and warp drive were offline. They were sitting ducks should another Krenim ship appear. Worse, the Doctor was offline, and without access to his mobile emitter or a holodeck, he would stay that way.

“Make deck five your priority. We've got to get Sickbay up and running again.”

“Aye, sir,” Harry replied, falling back on the comfort of ‘fleet regs and command structure. Tom understood, but decided that he would never call Chakotay _captain_.

“Tom,” Chakotay turned toward him. He looked exhausted. “I'm going to need you to stay here and treat these people. We’re all going to have a lot of grieving to do, but it will have to wait until this crisis is over.”

Tom just nodded. He hadn’t bothered to tell Chakotay about his experiences, hadn’t seen the point. If he could will himself to jump out right now, he would. He’d been taking direction from Kes since she’d assumed the role of doctor, and they hadn't discussed Tom’s predicament. They’d been too busy. Kes had been trying to save as many people as she could, was trying to alleviate their suffering, and Tom had followed along though he didn’t see the point. Soon, he hoped, none of this would happen. 

Neelix approached them and tapped Kes on the shoulder. “Kes, we've got radiation leakage coming from one of the Krenim torpedo fragments. People are starting to complain of nausea.”

Her head snapped around and she stared at Tom. “Chroniton radiation,” he said. 

She scanned them both quickly, then nodded. “We’re infected. This is it.” 

Tom turned to Neelix. “Where's the torpedo fragment?”

“It's lodged in a Jefferies tube on deck eleven, section two.”

Tom nodded and stood. “I've got to get down there.”

Neelix grasped his arm. “Tom, you can't. The entire deck is sealed off.”

“You have to find the exact temporal variance of that torpedo,” Kes reminded him.

“You can't go near that thing!” Neelix moved to bar Tom’s way. “You'll be burnt to a crisp.”

“I know what I'm doing, Neelix.” He looked at his friend, someone he had often thought of as foolish, frivolous, and felt a swell of warmth for him, recognizing his bravery and stalwart loyalty. He pulled him into a quick hug. “You stay here and help Kes, all right?”

“Yes, but…”

Tom stared at Kes. “I’ll see you on the other side.” His voice was soft and full of resignation. 

“I won’t forget,” she assured him. 

“I won’t, either.” He kissed her on the cheek and whispered a heartfelt, “thank you,” then strode out of the mess without looking back. Neelix called after him, but Tom ignored him. He found his way to an equipment locker and took a respirator, a tricorder and a wrist torch. He longed for a hyperspanner but didn’t want to risk going into main engineering to get one. 

It took him a good twenty minutes to snake his way from the mess to deck eleven. Two corridors were blocked by debris so he’d been forced to backtrack, and he’d passed one body: Tim Lang. When his way was blocked a third time, Tom took to the Jefferies tubes, finding the nearest junction and sliding down the vertical shaft to the lower decks, barely holding onto the handrails. He was beginning to feel the press of time. Though, what a colossal joke it would be if he found himself stuck here, in this time, with B’Elanna gone and the damned Krenim torpedo as a consolation prize. He wondered if he would loop continually, always too late to save her. 

Janeway’s words came back to him from when they were first stranded in the Delta Quadrant and trapped in a singularity. They’d responded to a hail from another ship, only to realize that the distress call that had lured them there was, in actuality, the captain’s opening hail to a mirror reflection of their _own_ ship. He’d been confused, not understanding how they could have responded to something that hadn’t happened yet. _In temporal mechanics sometimes effect can precede cause. A reaction can be observed before the action which initiated it._

He heard it before it saw it, wedged about twenty metres up the tube, sticking out of the wall. It was pulsing with a strange greenish light, and either an EPS conduit had ruptured, spewing toxic gas into the tube, or the torpedo was leaking something equally noxious. Something was making an eerie _hissing_ sound that set the hair on the back of his neck on end. Tom crawled toward the torpedo and sat as he scanned it, trying to lock down its temporal frequency. He squinted as sweat beaded his forehead, and he felt a flutter of nausea. He was thankful he’d refused the ration bar Kes had offered him earlier. 

From the end of the tube, it had appeared that the torpedo was glowing, but Tom would swear that it was actually shifting in and out of phase with _Voyager_. It was incredible. He tore off the respirator and wiped at the sweat on his upper lip. He’d always hated wearing them; they made him feel hot and confined. Made him believe he was getting less air, not more. His joints were aching and the tricorder trembled in his hand. He almost dropped it and tightened his grip. It wouldn’t do to break it. Numbers were flipping rapidly on the display, and Tom scrubbed at his eyes and sat back on his bottom, his back against the tube wall, while he waited for it to stop. 

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, fighting the urge to vomit. His lungs and throat were burning, his eyes were watering, and he started to cough as the cloud of venting gas thickened. He concentrated on slowing his breathing, taking shallow breaths so his lungs wouldn’t revolt. The tricorder gave a happy chirp and Tom raised it to his eyes. 1.47. The torpedo had a temporal variance of 1.47. 

He raised his hand to his combadge and tapped it. “Pari—” His command was cut off by a violent fit of coughing, and he dropped the tricorder as he doubled over, unable to stop the coughing fit. He fell face first onto the grill, felt the cool metal against his cheek, and shivered. He was so cold. His fingers were stiff, his limbs felt like blocks of ice.

Please, he thought, his breath rasping in his throat, his lungs burning. Please. Now.


	7. Chapter 7

There was stillness and quiet. Tom stiffened as he registered the softness of sheets and a bed beneath him, his nakedness, the _other_ softness of a nude body on top of his. Breath on his cheek, lips trailing moist kisses down his throat. Hair tickling his face. Breasts pressed against his chest, smooth legs tangled with his, heat against his thigh. Warm, firm flesh beneath his fingertips. His hands spasmed. 

He jerked and pulled back, pressing his head into the pillow, trying to put distance between himself and the woman in his bed. 

“Hmmm?” She continued to kiss her way down his throat to his shoulder, scraped her teeth over his collarbone. Tom shuddered. 

He tensed and pushed at the body above him, rolling them so she was beneath him and he was pinning her to the bed. She squealed, then laughed, and her dark hair fell into her mouth. Tom reached down and brushed it out of her face. 

B’Elanna smiled up at him. “I thought you wanted slow tonight,” she said. Her voice was low and breathy, and the lights above his bed cast a bronze glow on her skin and reflected in her eyes.

“B’Elanna.” Tom’s mouth dropped open as emotion threatened to swamp him. He’d watched her die a few hours ago.

She cocked her head, and her hair shifted on his pillow. Her lips quirked. “Who else were you expecting?” 

Her tone was teasing, but he felt tears prick his eyes as heat washed his face. He bent his head and kissed her, sweet and deep, until he had to stop to gulp a breath. 

“Tom, what is it?” She smiled at him, and her hand landed on his shoulder, slid down his chest to settle over his heart. 

He shivered. 

He raised a hand to cup her cheek, smoothed his fingers over her ridges, traced the dip and arch of one up toward her temple. “Nothing.” He shook his head. “A bad dream.” He didn’t care that he’d missed their coming together, that he didn’t know _when_ he was, or how long they had before the Krenim attack. She was alive and in his arms, in his bed, and he was going to hang onto that. He wished he could start from right here. 

She was still staring at him curiously, and he shook his head and kissed her again. “It’s nothing. I just lo—ahh!” His muscles contracted and he shuddered violently as cold gripped him. “No,” he breathed. No. Not now!

“Tom?” 

Her forehead creased in concern, and she pushed against his chest and sat up. She touched his shoulder, then ran her hand down his arm, gripping the muscle firmly. Her palm felt hot on his chilled skin. 

“Tom, you’re freezing. Are you okay?” 

“N-no… I…” He shook his head, anger and fear welling inside him as his body shivered. “No—”

*^*^*^*^*

It was a different cold, and his boots slipped on the snow-covered ice on the ground. He could smell the metallic tang of frost in the air, taste bitterness on his tongue as he sucked air through his mouth. The cold bit into him, numbed his ears and the tips of his fingers, stole his breath. His hands cramped and throbbed with pain that shot to his elbows, and he clenched them into fists and tucked them into his armpits in an attempt to warm them. He registered his body’s forward momentum. He’d been walking, hunched against the breeze, likely trying to contain his body’s warmth, and he stopped abruptly and looked behind him. B’Elanna was struggling in the slippery snow, and he reached for her arm, held her up. “Computer, arch.”

“Good try,” she said.

Where the hell were they? An away mission gone wrong? He couldn’t imagine how they got here without winter gear!

“I’m s-so cold,” B’Elanna stuttered. Her teeth were chattering. 

He put an arm around her back and pulled her close, and rested his cheek on her hair: it was cold, too. “Here, sit down for a minute.” It was obvious that she needed to rest, but was sitting on an ice block really such a good idea when you were freezing to death? He crouched in front of her and rubbed his hands briskly up and down her arms trying to create a little friction. At least his fingers warmed. “We have to keep going. You understand that, right?”

Her breath stuttered, and she nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you remember the winter camping exercise in the Academy?” 

She shook her head and her hair whipped her cheeks. He put his palms on them, his fingers over her ears, and she gasped and tilted her head to the right, leaning into his hand. He leaned closer and blew warm breath on her forehead. 

“You must have dropped out too soon. A week in Canada's arctic, with just what we could carry on our backs, no gadgets besides one communicator for emergencies. That was cold! This is just mildly chilly.”

She huffed a laugh. “Sure. To a human, maybe, but K-klingons need heat.”

“And I thought that hot temper of yours would keep you warm.” He smiled into her eyes, love for her suddenly overwhelming him. 

“M-maybe when I h-have time t-to think a-b-bout how pissed off I am.”

“Come on, we need to keep moving.” He grasped her by the upper arm and stood, gave a little tug. 

“No.” She blinked slowly and her head bobbed. Her body swayed toward him but she made no move to get up. “You go, I’ll catch up.”

Adrenaline shot through him, fear riding it’s edge. He knew full well what would happen if she didn’t keep moving. If she stopped, she’d die. She'd freeze to death. “Oh, no. No way! You’re coming with me right now! Do I have to order you to get moving, Lieutenant?” He gripped her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet, and gave her a little shake. Her head flopped on her neck.

She snorted. “You can’t order me, we’re the same rank.” Her voice was low, the words mumbled.

“Oh, yeah? Well I’m a bridge officer and I have—”

*^*^*^*

“Seniorit—” Tom froze. Breathed. One breath. Two. Three. He was sitting at his place at the conn. Stars streaked past on the viewscreen, the hums and clicks and whistles of the bridge seemed normal. He turned. Tuvok was at his post, Dorado at the engineering console. He moved his head to the left, then spun his chair to face the bridge. Harry at ops, Captain Janeway, Chakotay. Where was B’Elanna? 

“Tom? Is there a problem?” The captain was staring at him, one eyebrow arched. Chakotay was frowning. 

His pulse kicked into high gear, hammered in his ears. Logically, he knew that if Janeway was safe, B’Elanna was too, but he needed to be sure. He glanced away from the command team, tapped his combadge. “Paris to Torres.” He needed to hear her voice.

“ _Torres here._ ” 

His breath left him and it was all he could do to keep from laughing with relief. 

“ _Tom_?” She paused another moment waiting for his reply. “ _What can I do for you?_ ”

“Lieutenant, is there something wrong with the helm?” Chakotay.

“No, I...” Tom shook his head. He sat in silence for a moment, waiting to jump. “Permission to be relieved?”

Janeway sat forward in her seat. “Aren’t you feeling well, Tom?” 

Tom stood, took two stiff steps. “No, I’m not. I need to speak with you privately, Captain. Chakotay, you too. The whole senior staff. Please. I know it’s…extraordinary, but it’s important.”

Chakotay nodded and flicked a finger, and Culhane slid into Tom’s seat at the helm. Tom dropped a hand to his shoulder and squeezed. Did he live, or was he one of the people who died during their Year of Hell? He couldn’t remember if he’d seen him or not. They were all dear to him, he realized. They were family. 

“What’s this about, Tom?”

He recognized Janeway’s tone, cautious, wary. “Please, Captain, if you’ve ever trusted me, trust me now.”

She raised a hand to her chest and tapped her combadge. “Lieutenant Torres, report to the briefing room.”

“ _On my way, Captain_.” 

Her response was immediate, and Tom heard the curiosity in her tone. He felt a suffusion of warmth, of calm, at just hearing her voice. “We need the Doc, too,” he said, “and Kes.”

Janeway nodded and summoned them, _report to the briefing room_. The Doctor must have his mobile emitter. That helped a little, but as Tom headed off the bridge, he realized he had no idea what day it was. What year it was. Harry fell into step beside him, glanced at him curiously. 

“What’s going on?” 

Tom just shook his head. He didn’t want to address Harry right now, couldn’t look him in the eye knowing that he was going to do everything he could to stop B’Elanna’s death, and stop the future he’d witnessed from happening. He would never marry Kes, never have the daughter who Harry would later marry. Never have a part-Ocampan grandson. He didn’t care that Harry and Kes had assured him that he’d been happy, he didn’t want it. 

He sat, and looked from Chakotay to Janeway. The captain’s bun was gone, replaced by a pony tail, but that didn’t really help him narrow it down; he’d never paid that much attention to her hairstyles. “What’s the date?”

“The stardate is 50856.7. You should know that.”

He’d lost a week, then. It was close enough. 

“Tom, you need to tell me what’s going on right now.”

B’Elanna entered through the port doorway, followed closely by the Doctor. Kes strode in behind them, and Tom’s eyes caught hers. She smiled blandly at him, then her stride hitched and she paused. She stared at him for a long moment. Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something. She nodded. 

Before, he realized, Kes had only remembered his jumps after she’d made physical contact with him. She didn’t need to do that anymore. He returned her nod, then focused his attention on B’Elanna. He smiled at her as she sat across from him. The urge to touch her was almost overwhelming. She stilled and smiled back, and wrinkled her forehead in a question. Yeah, he didn’t blame her; he must look strange right now, but he was just so relieved to see her alive and obviously well. The sense memory of her body pressed against his own flashed into his mind—skin against warm skin.

“What is it?” The Doctor asked. “Kes and I were in the middle of synthesising some new analgesic compounds and I need to watch them carefully.” 

“Tom?” Janeway inclined her head: a sign he should begin. A sign she was losing patience with him. 

He took a breath, glanced at B’Elanna again, stared at his hands as he ordered his thoughts. “First, one point four seven. Remember that number. Don’t bother to write it down, remember it.”

“Why?” Chakotay asked.

“Because you might need it later. I hope you won’t, but… It’s the phase frequency of a temporal torpedo that’s going to hit _Voyager_ in about six months.”

“A what?!” B’Elanna leaned toward him over the table. 

Tom just shook his head. “I’ve had a really strange day.” He huffed a laugh. “As far as I can determine, I've jumped six years into the future, then jumped back with about a dozen stops along the way.”

“The future?” It was Chakotay again, of course.

“Did we make it home?” Harry’s face was lit with hope, but Tom couldn’t tell if he really believed him or not.

The captain raised her hand to silence them. She said nothing, just stared at Tom appraisingly. He glanced at B’Elanna and read her disbelief, watched as her expression morphed into calculation. He could almost hear her brain clicking. 

Tuvok spoke before Tom could continue. “Do you have any theories as to the cause of these jumps?”

“Yes, actually.” He drew a breath. “About six months from now, the crew will become infected with chroniton radiation when that torpedo gets through our shields. Everyone will be inoculated and their symptoms will disappear, but we’ll stiil have residual chroniton particles in our cells.” 

“That could happen, certainly,” the Doctor said, “but they shouldn’t pose any risk to you or anyone else.”

Janeway held up a hand again, and the Doctor quieted. “Continue, Tom.”

Tom glanced at B’Elanna again, looked back at the Captain. “But, about five years later, when the Doctor attempts an experimental procedure to extend Kes’ lifespan, we create a bio-temporal chamber that triggers the dormant chroniton particles.”

“But why did they affect you? Why not Kes? Why isn’t she the one jumping through time?” Harry’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. 

“Because the Doctor put me inside it to try to save my life.” He sighed, suddenly exhausted by it all. “I was—will be—on an away mission, in a shuttlecraft with…” He paused. Seven wasn’t in the room. She couldn’t have joined the crew yet. “Last week, I took the _Cochrane_ into that interfold layer.” He deliberately didn’t look at the Doctor. B’Elanna shifted in her chair, and looked down at the briefing room table. 

Tom continued. “I think I was exposed to chronitons when I was in that interfold layer between space and subspace. Five years from now, I’m on another shuttle mission and I run into a cloud of free chronitons. We think they may have _woken_ the chroniton radiation in my body. The two events are like—”

“The two events acted like two ends of an elastic band, stretched tight. One end lets go, snapping you backwards. Or forwards.” B’Elanna murmured. “You said the crew is exposed to chroniton radiation from a torpedo. Who attacks us?”

“I…” Tom paused, wondering how much to tell.

“Right now, I’m more interested in how we can solve Tom’s dilemma. In all my years in Starfleet I've never come across a phenomenon quite like this,” Janeway said. She glanced around the table. “So, solutions?”

“Wait, Captain, B’Elanna’s right, I have to tell you,” Tom said, his mind made up. “If I don’t… He glanced at B’Elanna and his stomach clenched. “We’re going to enter a region of space controlled by a race called—” 

Janeway held up a hand. “Wait, Tom. I think we should discuss this part privately, don’t you?”

Tom pressed his lips together in frustration. “But they need to know so everyone stays safe!” He flicked a glance at B’Elanna. She was busy keying numbers into a padd. 

“Are you suggesting, Lieutenant,” Tuvok eyed him, “that we can use this opportunity to change the future that you saw in the course of your _jumps_.”

“Yes.” Tom stared at him, determined. “Believe me, Tuvok, you wouldn’t like the future I’ve seen. Besides, it’s not the same as changing the past; the future isn’t set, it hasn’t happened yet. And we don’t even know if we can prevent it.”

Janeway’s chin came up. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright.” She nodded. “Continue.”

“We’re going to encounter a race called the Krenim. We have to avoid them at all costs.” He paused and gulped a breath, willed his pulse to steady. How long had he been in this time? How long did he have before he jumped out again?

“Tell me more.”

He needed to concentrate his story on the battle with the Krenim, tell her what he knew would shock her, harden her. Not get sidetracked with his marriage to Kes, the birth of their daughter, his grandson. If he had his way, none of that was going to happen. 

“They fire on us. Their torpedoes get through our shields because they’re in a state of temporal flux.”

“One point four seven,” B’Elanna said. Her head jerked up from her padd and their eyes locked for a moment. 

Tom nodded. He looked down at his hands, loosely clasped on the top of the briefing room table. He couldn’t look at B’Elanna when he said this next part, couldn’t see her face and get the words out. “It’s an unprovoked attack and we take heavy damage.”

“People die,” Janeway stated. She glanced at B’Elanna. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, “I think you do.” He stared at her for a long moment and raised an eyebrow. She drew back slightly, her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She gave him a little nod as her mouth drew into a slight frown. 

“A torpedo gets lodged in a Jefferies tube on deck eleven,” Tom continued, “and during a jump I tracked it down. I’m positive it’s the one that infected us with the chroniton radiation. It has a temporal variance of one point four seven.”

Janeway nodded. “What else?”

“You have to understand that I’ve been jumping from point to point in time. Sometimes I stay for a while, other times for no longer than a few minutes.”

“Do you have any sort of warning before you jump?” Harry was looking at him intently, maybe waiting for him to start glowing. 

“Yes. I get cold.”

“Cold?” the Doctor interjected. 

Tom nodded. “Freezing, actually.”

“What happens after you locate the torpedo, Tom?” the captain asked. 

“I didn’t live through this part yet, Kes told me, five or six years in the future.” He glanced at her, and he saw warmth in her eyes, encouragement. She nodded.

“Understood,” Janeway said. “Continue.”

“We battle them, we win some ground, they take it back. The ship… we lose a lot of people. Apparently, we call it the _Year of Hell_.” 

B’Elanna cut in. “I’m sorry, Tom, but none of this matters.” She sent him an apologetic smile then turned toward the Captain. “Since Tom is moving backward in time, he's already been infected by the radiation poisoning and we have no way of preventing that now.”

The Doctor stood and slipped his medical tricorder from his belt and started to scan Tom. After a few moments, he lowered the wand and shook his head. “I’m not reading anything,” the Doctor stated, “but I’ll have to do some tests to be sure.”

“It’s not Tom’s body that’s jumping backwards in time,” Kes said, “it’s his consciousness.”

“And we can prevent it if we avoid the Krenim!” Tom insisted. “I know which area of space is theirs, I know where they are. If we go around—”

“No,” Janeway shook her head. “B’Elanna’s right, that won’t help you now. How many jumps have you made since the Krenim attack?”

Tom thought for a moment. “Counting this one? Four.”

“Then we have every reason to believe that you will continue to jump backwards; the only question is, how far?”

“You mean, we might end up with baby Tom to look after?” Harry grinned, softening the joke.

“No, because he wasn’t here then,” Janeway said. “But for all we know, Tom’s next jump will take him back to a time when we're not here to help him.”

“But we might be able to correct this,” B’Elanna said. “If we can set up this bio-temporal chamber and expose him to a precisely modulated field of anti-chroniton particles. That may purge his system and bring him back into temporal sync with the rest of us.” She turned to Tom and caught his eye. “One point four seven?”

He nodded.

“Well,” Janeway said, “we'd better get moving. B’Elanna, Harry, get on it. Dismissed.”

“I want Lieutenant Paris in sickbay, immediately,” the Doctor demanded.

“As soon as I’m done with him, he’s all yours.” Janeway turned to Tom, wrapped her hand around his upper arm. “Now I want you to tell me everything you know about the Krenim.”

“Captain.” 

“What is it, Kes?”

“I don’t know how it’s possible, if I’m picking up on Tom’s thoughts or…” she shrugged, “but I remember, too. Everything he’s said is the truth. The Krenim, the attack on _Voyager_ , I remember it all.” She glanced at him with a look of soft understanding in her eyes. “And I remember the things he hasn’t told you, yet. We need to prevent this, Captain.”

Janeway’s mouth fell open. She placed a hand on Kes’ back, and steered them both toward her ready room.

*^*

An hour later Tom was dismissed. He’d been careful about what he’d divulged to the captain. Kes appeared to be in silent agreement with him. Janeway knew he was holding something back, he could tell, but she hadn’t pressed him. She did trust him, after all, and knowing that had made him feel good. Better than good. 

He knew he was expected in sickbay but he needed to stop somewhere else first, and it was on the way. He stepped into the ‘lift. “Deck four, section three.”

It was a short walk down the corridor, and he faced the door with no little trepidation. He keyed in the code and the doors slid smoothly open. He recognized the painting on the far wall, the couch, and a lamp. But none of that meant anything. They were ‘fleet issue the same as his uniform and his boots. 

He crossed to the sleeping area, bypassed the bed and stepped into the closet. His vests, his surfer shirt, the blue shirt he’d picked up in Los Angeles in 1996. They were his quarters. He sat on the bed and looked around, and his eyes lit on his pillow. He reached out and touched it, thought of B’Elanna naked in his bed, stretched out on these sheets, soft and warm and willing. He let himself smile. He’d make it happen. 

*^*

“I'm ready to bring the chamber online.”

Rather than construct the bed from wholly replicated parts, they’d used a torpedo casing and converted it into the bio-temporal chamber. B’Elanna and Harry had worked in conjunction with the Doctor so Tom’s vital signs could be constantly monitored. They’d even thought to include a layer of padding so he wasn’t lying on bare metal, and to cut out a window over his face so he could see. It all felt horribly familiar, and Tom fought against the ripple of panic that had overwhelmed him when he first woke in the tube. 

He felt trapped. It might as well be a makeshift coffin. They hadn’t been able to bury Pete or Hogan, but Frank Darwin, Ahni, Kurt, Marie, they’d all been sent off on their final journey in _Voyager’s_ torpedo casings. He heard his pulse start to pound in his ears, and lifted his head off the makeshift mattress to look at B’Elanna. She was standing beyond the end of the tube, at a computer console, checking the readings from the monitors inside the chamber. She looked up from the screen and flashed him a small smile, looked back down.

He tried to regulate his breathing, took a long, slow, measured breath and held for it a moment before exhaling.

“Just relax, Mister Paris, this should all be over soon.”

Sweat prickled the back of his neck and under his arms. “Easy for you to say, Doc. Have I mentioned that I’m not really a fan of small spaces?” 

“Really? Given your marked tachycardia and hyperventilation, I would never have guessed. Just breathe normally.”

Tom closed his eyes and tried to do just that. “Great advice, Doc. Thanks.”

“You’re going to be fine, Tom,” Kes said from somewhere beyond his head. 

“Synaptic relays are operational,” Janeway said. “How are his vital signs?”

“Pulse is on the high side of normal. In through the nose out through the mouth, Mister Paris. Body temperature thirty-six point seven degrees, chroniton level at seventy nine roentgens.” The Doctor nodded at B’Elanna. “Go ahead and activate the chamber, Lieutenant.” 

Tom’s eyes snapped open. “Wait! B’Elanna?”

“What?” 

She glanced up at him and frowned. He was aware that he must look like a maniac. He twitched his head, jutted his chin. “Come here.”

She sighed and walked the two metres to his side, tilted her head toward him. Her voice was low when she spoke. “It’s going to be fine, Tom. I know what I’m doing.”

“I never doubt that. When all this is over, will you have dinner with me?”

She laughed, and her eyebrows rose. “You’re inviting me to dinner now?”

“No time like the present.”

She rolled her eyes. “You stick around awhile, I might consider it. Do you have five years of replicator rations saved up?”

Tom just grinned. He felt a little calmer, more focused. 

“Are we ready now?” the Doctor asked as B’Elanna took her position behind the console once again. She nodded at the Doctor. “Then please increase the bio-temporal field stress, Lieutenant.”

“Bringing field stress to twenty-five kilodynes.”

“Alright, let's try the anti-chronitons.”

“Whenever you're ready, Doctor.” Janeway said. 

Tom concentrated on breathing and not touching the sides of the tube. He thought about dinner tonight with B’Elanna. Imagined what she might wear: she had that flowered dress that she’d worn to the luau, but maybe they would go somewhere more fancy. He’d like to see her in something more formal. 

“Initiating anti-chroniton burst, ten MEVs, five second pulse. Pulse steady, body temperature at thirty-seven point two degrees,” Janeway said.

“What about his chroniton count?”

“Chroniton count is seventy one roentgens and dropping,” Kes replied.

“It's working.” The Captain sounded pleased with herself. 

“Lieutenant Torres,” the Doctor said, “increase the field strength to thirty kilodynes.” 

“Right.” 

Tom could hear the concentration in her tone. His hand jerked at his side and bumped the cold metal tube; it seemed to sear his skin. He looked up and tried to find the sickbay ceiling fascinating. 

“Initiating another burst. Fifteen MEVs, five second pulse. Body temperature thirty-five point eight degrees. That’s odd.” The Doctor frowned.

Tom felt a shudder pass through him and he was suddenly chilled. “Wait! No! Not now!”

“Just relax, To—”


	8. Chapter 8

“Ahh, Mister Paris. What is it now? I thought Kes healed your cheek.”

“Doc?” 

Tom glanced left, right. Looked down at himself. He was dressed in his ‘fleet issued climbing suit. It was dirty, and there was a tear on the right shoulder. He glanced around sickbay. B’Elanna was lying on a biobed, seemingly asleep, Kes hovering over her. Memories slammed into him and he instantly knew when he was. It hadn’t worked. He felt sick to his stomach, and disappointment welled up inside him and threatened to choke him. 

“Out!” the Doctor appeared at his side, a scowl on his face. “I told you once already, you need to leave and stay gone.” He put a hand on Tom’s arm and pulled him toward the exit. 

“It didn’t work,” Tom said. Fear clawed him, along with an overwhelming feeling of remorse. 

“As a matter of fact it did. Her _pon farr_ has been resolved and she’s going to be fine. But you need to leave so she can rest.” His expression changed to one of sympathy, and his tone softened. “Tom, I know you’re concerned about her, but she wouldn’t want to see you here when she wakes up.”

Tom shifted his focus from the woman on the biobed to the Doctor. That’s right. After the _incident_ on Sikari IV, after Kes had healed his jaw, the Doctor had thrown him out of sickbay. He’d been more than clear that Tom should stay out, but he had come back to check on her. He didn’t remember that he hadn’t changed out of the climbing suit, hadn’t showered, first. 

“I need to speak to the captain,” Tom said. “You too.” He shivered suddenly as cold sliced through him. “Damn it,” he cursed. “No!”

“No, what? Mister Paris?”

Panic twisted in Tom’s gut. He sliced a hand through the air. “I need to tell you something and I need you to listen to me!”

A look of annoyance crossed the Doctor’s face. “Well, what is it?” 

Tom shook his head. “It's a long story. The important thing is, the temporal vari—”

*  
He ached. His head ached, his body, his arms, his hands. Something cold pressed into his cheek, and he opened his eyes. They ached, too. He blinked, trying to focus, and his stomach churned. Nausea swelled in his belly and swept over him in a wave of heat. He clenched his teeth on the urge to vomit.

He was in the mess hall, slumped in a chair, the cold of the metal table biting into his cheek. Something dark stretched along the table’s surface directly in front of his face, almost touching his nose. He tried to focus on it and the room spun; his mouth watered as heat prickled his scalp and his stomach contents rose in complaint.

He focused on a cloth covered arm, and his eyes travelled its length to a chin, a full red mouth, sweetly curved nose. B’Elanna. His fingers twitched and he realized he was touching her shoulder. He lifted his head, and pain and nausea lanced through him, followed by a leadened cold. He shivered.

*  
He was dressed in a navy blue uniform jacket trudging through the woods, carrying a rifle. The wool cloth itched, and he could smell smoke from a campfire just beyond a stand of trees.

*  
He was walking on the sand beside the San Diego pier, Tuvok by his side, the sun hot on his face. A breeze ruffled his hair. His blue jeans felt too warm, and he removed the cotton shirt he was wearing so he could feel Earth’s sun on his shoulders. Tuvok’s voice held a note of frustration as he warned him against dermal dysplasia. 

*  
A hard, cold floor beneath him, his cheek pressed into the filth. Someone yanking on his leg and pain! So much pain! Harry’s voice, loud, angry, issuing a warning. 

“This man is my friend. Nobody touches him!”

*  
“Well, Tom. It's always good to have one's instincts verified.”

“Seska!” She’d died almost a year ago in an attempt to take _Voyager_. She’d almost succeeded. It was like looking at a living ghost. He glanced down at his outfit; he wasn’t in uniform, so this must be when he’d pretended to leave _Voyager,_ when he’d uncovered Seska’s spy. 

“We have ground troops on Hemikek and more ships on the way. Now don't you wish you'd taken my offer?” she spat.

He couldn’t remember what her offer might have been, but he was certain it would be a cold day in hell before he’d take anything from her.

She scowled and opened her mouth to say something else, and Tom shut his eyes as cold enveloped him. This time, he welcomed the jump. 

*  
He was sitting on the floor of a dank, dark room, B’Elanna beside him. His arm was around her shoulders, and she sat huddled and miserable.

“My father left when I was five years old. One day he was there and the next, he was just gone. No one said anything, but I knew we were different.”

She looked up at him then, and he saw her smooth forehead and the tears in her eyes, and he felt her pain like a physical blow. “I cried myself to sleep every night for months.”

He shivered as he gathered her into his arms and rocked her. “I’m so sorr—”

*  
“—the lieutenant assigned to the conn.”

Captain Janeway was smiling at him, her hair in a bun, walking around her desk to present him with his pips. 

“You mean me,” he whispered. They were back to the beginning. He didn’t want to go back any further. Cold gripped him.

“Of course.” She smiled. “I’ve entered into the ship’s log that on this date I’m reinstating Thomas Eugene Paris to the rank of Lieutenant, junior grade. Congratulations, Tom.”

Tom shook his head. “Captain, listen to me. I have to tell you—”

*  
He was cold all the time now, his body not warming between jumps, and he felt dizzy and slightly sick with the effort of figuring out where he was; when he was. 

“Your father can’t save you now, Paris.”

He was cornered, angry men pushing him, shoving him. Pain as the back of his head hit the wall. The cold of the durasteel seeped into his back through his coveralls; a fist in his gut; fingers tightening in his hair, pulling—

*  
He was leaning forward, his elbows on the bartop, his shoulders hunched, toying with the glass in his hands. The amber liquid glinted in the dim room, catching the light from the lamps above the bar. There was a low rumble of conversation, and Tom’s head jerked up, he turned. 

A man approached him from the end of the bar. “I hear you’re a pilot.”

Chakotay. Younger, tougher. Angry. Looking like he expected Tom to let him down. Tom’s stomach lurched and he shook his head, opened his mouth to refuse—

*  
“Lieutenant Thomas Eugene Paris, this tribunal has come to a decision. Are you ready to hear this decision?”

Tom’s breath caught. He was in a hearing room, in his dress uniform, standing at attention. He looked toward the gallery and saw his father seated stiffly, his jaw set, his face a hard mask. He was staring directly at him, and as their eyes met, Tom saw his father’s pain, his guilt, his self-recrimination so obvious now from five years’ distance. He hadn’t looked at his father before, during the hearing, had assumed at the time that he was there to turn the screw and to berate him, and shame stole his breath from him for a moment. 

“Dad…” It was barely above a whisper. He swallowed the lump in his throat, willed back the tears stinging his eyes. “Dad, I’m sor—”

*  
Seated at the helm of a shuttle, the small ship shaking almost hard enough to knock him out of his chair. His teeth rattling, the muscles in his arms rigid, sweat sticking his uniform shirt to his back, fear cramping his gut. Clouds streaking past the viewport, a woman was screaming.

“No!” Tom shouted. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Please, let me jump before we cra—”

*  
“Okay, ease up on the thrusters and mind your pitch.”

Tom’s hand automatically moved to the top left of the instrument panel, but the control wasn’t there. He wasn’t at _Voyager’s_ helm. He glanced to the right and saw clouds moving past a bank of viewports. The panel below curved toward the pilot seat. 

“Bring your nose up, Tom, we want a slow, steady ascent. Tom?”

He looked to his left and stared at his father. It was almost like looking in a mirror: the same jaw, same forehead, the same clear blue eyes that stared out at him each morning as he shaved. His bright, golden hair starting to grey. “Dad...?”

“Careful, we’re heading into a slip.”

Tom tore his eyes from the face of the man at his side, maybe a decade older than he was now, and concentrated on the instrument panel in front of him. They were in _The Lady Grey_. It had been old and outmoded when he was a kid, his father’s pride and joy, a toy he’d leveraged as a special treat for Tom and his sisters. It had sparked his interest in piloting.

“Correct your pitch, son, or we’re going to crash and die, and that will make your mother very unhappy.” His even tone held a hint of humour that belied his ominous words. “Nose up, son.”

His father’s voice was steady and even, and it spurred Tom to react. His hands were smaller, his arms shorter, so he had to reach, but he corrected their heading and levelled them off, and then slowly eased the thrusters to full power as he began their ascent. 

“That’s it son, you’ve got it.” 

He risked a glance at his father. He was smiling, pride shining out of eyes, and Tom grinned back, flush with remembered excitement and anticipation. 

“We’re about to hit the tropopause so remember to watch for a tem—”

“A temperature change, I know. I remember, Dad.” Tom laughed as the shuttle bounced, riding the turbulence as it rose. He corrected their heading again, smoothed their climb. He was tempted to take them into a roll, but he couldn’t remember if the old shuttle had working inertial dampers, and didn’t feel like risking becoming a blob of paste on the roof. He’d been eight when his father had taught him to fly.

They shot upwards, leaving the clouds behind them, and Tom saw the arc of blue light seconds before they left it behind, too, and entered the mesosphere. 

“Get ready to engage the impulse engines,” his father said. 

“Standing by,” Tom replied. He anticipated the temperature drop, reached out, then shifted in his seat and reached further, and pressed the control for the impulse engines. “Impulse engines engaged, aye,” he said. “One eighth impulse.”

He caught his father’s grin from the corner of his eye. Just then, stars exploded in the dark, stealing his attention and taking his breath away. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is—”

*  
Warmth. Softness. A contented sleepiness. A legarthy in his limbs, a sweet taste in his mouth and the satisfied feeling of a full stomach. His head jerked backward, and he opened his eyes; his sight was blurry. Light and shadow, the scent of a man’s cologne: his father’s. His voice is a soft rumble.

“Okay… okay; it's alright, Tommy.”

Tom opened his mouth, tried to speak. His tongue lolled and he felt spit dribble through his lips and onto his chin. He grunted.

“Okay,” his father cooed. “Let’s mop you up. Your lunch isn’t going to come back up is it?”

Tom’s arm jerked. He concentrated, but couldn’t form his fingers into a fist, couldn’t raise his hand. He cried out in alarm. 

“Hush now. Here, how about we switch to this arm instead?” A blur of motion as his father settled him in the crook of his elbow. A large hand wrapped around his thigh, one settled on his belly and chest.

*  
Light, hazy and diffused. A sound, rhythmic and steady. 

_Pah-Bump!_

Warmth.

_Pah-bump._

Stillness.

_Pah-Bump! Pah—_

Darkness.

Light.

Bright light, streaking past his closed eyelids, past his eyes. Colours.

Sound and cold and a feeling of skin, fabric on his skin, pressure on the back of his head and his shoulders and his spine. His legs. A feeling of being confined. Voices. 

The Doctor’s voice.

“Fifty one roentgens, forty six, thirty four. Another anti-chroniton burst, twenty MEVs.”

“Right.” B’Elanna, answering him.

“Levels are continuing to drop. Pulse normal, body temperature steady at thirty six point two degrees, chroniton levels are at zero roentgens.”

Tom opened his eyes to see the Doctor smiling down at him. “Welcome back, Mister Paris.”

Tom blinked. “What's the date?” 

“The same as it was when we put you in the bio-temporal chamber ten minutes ago. And due to an extraordinary display of medical heroics, you're back in temporal sync with the rest of us.”

“Are you sure?” Tom asked.

“Completely.”

He felt weak with relief. Then a surge of energy had him attempting to sit. He pushed on the lid, but it held fast. “Can I get outta here now, Doc?” He felt antsy. Energy pulsed through his veins and he wanted to get up, needed to get up, and walk. 

B’Elanna moved to his side and released the locks holding the tube closed. Tom smiled his thanks at her then pushed on the lid. It rose, and he swung his legs off the bed. 

“Not so fast.” The Doctor placed a hand on his chest. “You are going to submit to a full examination. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve run at least a dozen tests. Then you’ll be off duty for two days, and that’s if I find nothing wrong with you.”

“Oh, come on,” Tom whined.

“I concur,” Janeway said. “If I see you anywhere besides your quarters or the mess hall for the next forty-eight hours, I drag you back here myself, Lieutenant. By the ear if I have to.” She smiled sweetly at him, then nodded and headed for the door. “It’s good to have you back, Tom,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Welcome back,” B’Elanna said as she moved past him. He reached out and brushed her arm with his fingertips, halting her.

“Are we still on for dinner?”

She made a show of mulling it over. “Well, I suppose we both have to eat,” she replied. Her lips lifted in a slight smile and her eyes warmed. Tom felt himself falling into her. 

“When _was_ the last time you ate, Lieutenant? Or haven’t you bothered since you started all this hopping around?”

Tom thought. “I had coffee and a doughnut ten...twenty jumps ago?”

“A doughnut?!” He sounded personally affronted. 

B’Elanna’s eyebrows rose and she mouthed _good luck_ then made her escape.

The Doctor crossed to the diagnostic bed and gestured toward it. “Sit,” he ordered. Tom did as he was told. “Someone should make a plaque and hang it over the bed,” the Doctor grumbled. “ _The Tom Paris Boo Boo Diagnosing Station_.” 

Tom jerked, and huffed a laugh. “I’m not here that often,” he said, attempting to defend himself. 

“Oh, aren’t you? I warned you about the radiation in that rift, warned you that you were foolhardy by nature, a risk taker, but did you listen to me? No!”

“Doc, no one could have foreseen—”

“I foresaw! I might as well just book you an appointment, once a week, to check you for your latest malady!”

Kes approached with a medical tricorder and a hypospray. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on Tom, Doctor? The Captain ordered him into that rift.”

“He volunteered! Eagerly!” He snatched the tricorder from her hand and started scanning Tom. “You’ll note that I’m starting with your brain,” he snipped.

“If you find anything, I’m sure you’ll let me know,” Tom murmured. 

Twenty minutes and nine tests later, Tom was free to go. “If you feel anything wrong—anything at all—I want you back here immediately.”

“Like what,” Tom frowned.

“Headache, muscle ache, sudden legarthy, nausea, giddiness, dizziness, anxiety—”

“Okay,” Tom held his hands in front of his chest, “I got it.” 

The Doctor sniffed and headed for his office. Kes approached the biobed and started its reset and decontamination protocol. 

“Kes.” He wasn’t absolutely sure talking to her was a good idea. 

She glanced up at him with a smile; her expression softened as she registered his hesitation. “We decided together, remember?”

“Kes, I—”

She took his hands in her own smaller ones, and Tom marveled at their strength. “They were good years, it was a good life. And we loved Linnis and Andrew, but…” She paused, drew a breath. “They weren’t meant to be, Tom. They should never have been.”

He nodded. “I know, but I can’t help feeling guilty. Sad. Like I’ve lost something special.”

Her hands slid to his upper arms and she squeezed. “Don’t hang on to ghosts, Tom. Make a new future.”

He pulled her into a quick hug and nodded. “You, too.”

Tom stopped at the Doctor’s office on his way out of sickbay, and hesitated in the doorway. He remembered their conversation the last time he’d been here, remembered that the Doctor’s daughter had been injured, dying. Recalled the Doctor’s outburst about his, Tom’s, penchant for recklessness. 

“Doc?”

“What else, Mister Paris? Was I unclear?”

“Um, no, you were very clear. I was just wondering if you went back into the programme.”

The Doctor stilled. His chin came up, but he didn’t put down the oversized padd he’d been reading. “Yes.”

Tom felt apprehension curl in his gut. “How did it go?”

He glanced back at the padd, tapped it. “I said goodbye.”

Tom nodded. “You know, if there’s one thing I learned through this whole… whatever this was, it’s that a father loves his child unconditionally, even when he doesn’t want to. Even when he tries not to.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful?”

“Maybe not, but I think, after this, you’ve just become a little more human.”

The Doctor placed the padd on his desk and looked at Tom. “Well, if this is what it feels like to be human, you can have it. I don’t want it.” He made a _shooing_ motion with his hands. “Now go and rest. You’ll need it; I suspect Mister Neelix is already planning a _Welcome Back_ party in your honour.”

“Yeah, well, you know Neelix,” Tom said. “Any excuse.” He turned and took a step toward the door. 

“Tom,” the Doctor halted him, “You were right about…” he hesitated for a moment, “the programme. And I am glad you’re back.”

Tom turned back and smiled. “Thanks, Doc. Me, too.”


	9. Epilogue

The resort was decked out with torches and flowers. Iridescent cloth hung like a snaking canopy, creating patches of cool shadow in the heat of the holographic sunshine. A buffet table was laden with finger food, and a large fountain situated at the end of the table cascaded chartreuse liquid onto three lower tiers from spouts built into their rims. Small, bowl-shaped glasses ringed the lowest tier, hanging from hooks on the fountain’s illuminated base. It was cycling through the spectrum of colours, some Tom was sure he’d never seen before. 

People were out of uniform, and Tom had chosen his more subdued light blue shirt, the one he’d picked up in the twentieth century, as a nod to the experience he’d just endured, and a pair of black slacks. He was relieved there weren’t any flower leis. He’d found a free table a little apart from the patio and was watching the crew, his found family, as they laughed and ate and enjoyed each other’s company. 

It was eerily reminiscent of the last time: the food, the decorations, the music. People, laughing and having a good time. But this time, the red alert klaxon wouldn’t sound. He was glad to be home. 

Harry appeared beside him and handed him a drink of not-punch. “Do we get home?”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know. The future that I jumped to was only one possible future, Harry. And besides, it’s not as if I've seen everything that's going to happen in our lifetime, I only saw six years in the future, and I only remember the short periods I experienced between jumps.”

“But I was alive, right? And Kes was an old woman. So, we don’t get home in the next five or six years?” 

“Not in that future. I’m sorry.” But they had, in a way. They’d made a home, on _Voyager_. Tom suddenly wished he’d paid more attention to everyone else. Had there been any other marriages? Any more children? He would never know now. 

He squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “We could now. I’ve probably changed enough things that the future I saw won’t happen. I hope I have.”

“It did sound pretty grim,” Harry agreed.

Guilt nibbled at him. “Not all of it, Harry.” At his raised eyebrow, Tom tried to explain. “There are some things I’d change, like the year of hell. But other things I saw, I’m going to do my damnedest to make them come true, Harry. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” 

His expression was open, guileless, and it made Tom feel immeasurably worse. He shook his head. “I…I can’t tell you.”

“What are you going to do, steal my girl?” Harry laughed. At Tom’s pained expression, Harry clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Hey, I’m just joking. In order for you to take her away from me, I have to be with someone, right?” 

“Harry…”

Harry frowned, his expression growing serious. “Tom, what is it?”

Tom shook his head. “I really can’t tell you. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“What are you two talking about so earnestly?” B’Elanna lifted Tom’s glass from his hand and took a drink. She wrinkled her nose at the taste. 

“Ohhh,” Tom turned and looked her up and down. She was still in her uniform. Damn. He winced and shook his head, then plucked the tiny paper umbrella from his glass and tucked it into her hair. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“And why is that?” Her eyebrow rose. 

“The betrayal, from someone you thought was your friend.” Tom leaned toward her across the table, snagged a crab puff off of her plate and popped it in his mouth. He smiled. 

“My friend? Really? And who would that be?”

He hesitated, flicked a glance at Harry. “It pains me to say it but…”

“What the—?”

“He’s been plotting your downfall.”

“Has he really?” A smile was tugging at her mouth. 

“Um, hm.”

B’Elanna smiled and rolled her eyes at his foolishness. “And how is this downfall going to come about?”

“Welll… this hurts me to say, but Harry just bet me five replicator rations that I beat you, three out of five, in Sandrine’s tonight.” Tom put on his best pained expression. 

She rounded on Harry, eyebrow raised, obviously not buying it. “Did you now?”

“I did not.” Harry scowled. 

“I’m afraid so.” Tom confirmed. 

“So what’s in it for me if I take your bet?”

“An evening of my company. If I win, I buy you that dinner we talked about.”

She made a show of looking around the holodeck, stared pointedly at the buffet table, at the half-empty plate in her hand, back at Tom. “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? Having dinner together?”

“I had something a little more private in mind.” 

Harry shifted and rolled his eyes. B’Elanna snorted. “I meant, what do I get if I win.”

“I was thinking of dinner at a little bistro on Casperia Prime.”

“Sooo, an evening with you?”

Tom smiled. It felt good to flirt with her again. 

Her chin rose and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Forget food. I’ll take your bet for two week’s rations.”

“Ohhh! The lady has deep pockets!” Tom laughed. “Okay. You’re on. But when I win your rations, don’t expect me to buy you dinner.”

“Well, when I win your rations, you’d better get used to leola root stew. Because you’re going to be eating it for a long time. Holodeck one, twenty-one hundred.” She turned back toward the buffet table. “Excuse me, the spiced _hatana_ is pretty good. I want to get more before it’s all gone.”

Tom watched her walk away, aware that he had a silly smile on his face and not caring.

“Why do you bait her like that?”

He turned back to his friend and laughed. “Harry, Harry, Harry. If I don’t bait her, how am I supposed to catch her?”

*^*^*^*^*^*


End file.
